Ecstasy
by zeldazonk
Summary: Imagine Moulin Rouge set in 2002. Imagine a young songwriter and an aspiring singer. Imagine a greedy agent and a jealous record producer. Imagine love, jealousy, heartbreak, success...FINISHED! Now with epilogue!
1. Enter the Beautiful Stranger

Los Angeles, 2002  
  
  
The wind was in his hair, Phantom Planet was blasting "California" from his car stereo, the sun was shining, and Chris (Christian) Foster could not have been happier. He was twenty-five and his future lay in front of him, brighter than the sun.   
  
His bottle-green Mustang convertible shot down the palm-tree lined highways. Destination: Los Angeles, California. Chris sang along with the Phantoms, ecstatic to be leaving home for good. He was going to pursue his dream of songwriting, and what better place to do it than the home of the Lakers and bikinis on the beach?   
In the back of his car were his few valuable possessions: his turquoise Fender electric guitar and his acoustic, a few suitcases, some paintings by Toulouse Lautrec, Diego Rivera, and Frida Kahlo, and a few posters of guitar gods like Jimi Hendrix and Led Zeppelin.   
  
Fancy, designer cars passed him and blondes with surgery-stretched faces grinned his way. He waved back, feeling almost flattered.  
The sky was hot pink and the clouds were purple over the ocean that was electric-blue. Chris's senses were in overdrive as he inhaled the smells of suntan oils, McDonald's, and smoke. His car whizzed past the sugar-sand white-hot beaches filled with tan and oiled bodies. "California here we come, right back where we all belong." He sang, overly, intoxicatingly happy. Chris's thoughts drifted to his family back in San Diego and the scene that had taken place the few days before he'd left home for good.   
  
"NO, Christian Foster, you are NOT going to Los Angeles." Peter Foster slammed down his leather briefcase and the impact shook the dinner table. Peter was a successful lawyer and his briefcase was his most prized possession.  
"Yes I am. I am twenty-five, Dad, and I am an adult."  
"I'm not funding anything..."  
"For Christ's sake, Daddy, let him go." Maggie, Chris's fifteen-year-old sister with a head of magenta dreadlocks and a flair for vintage clothing and swear words, slid into her seat and grabbed a drink from Maya, the Cuban maid.   
"Maggie! Watch your language!" Adding to the commotion, Francesca Foster, her face slathered with some greenish concoction and a red kimono swathed around her, scolded her daughter.   
Chris sat at his place, picking at the teriyaki chicken before him. "I have some money." He said, failing miserably at his cause. You would have thought that with a lawyer father he would have been better at arguing.  
Peter took a deep breath and fought to conquer his frustration at his son. His face became quite red. Chris held his breath. Peter stared. Chris stared right back. And then Peter said,   
"Go then if it'll make you happy. I'm tired of all this moping. Get your lazy ass out of my house."  
And from then on, Christian Foster left his home and went off into the trippy sunset that was L.A.   
  
After the humbling experience of asking for directions to his new apartment, Chris finally drove into the tiny garage allotted to him. It stank of old liquor and cigarettes. There were bits of broken glass that he swept away carefully with his foot. He took the cases of his guitars first and hauled them inside, followed by the other things that he'd packed. There wasn't much. With butterflies flapping their wings in his stomach, he unlocked the door to his new home and stepped inside.  
  
There was a small bedroom, a bathroom, an eat-in kitchen and a moderately big living room, all painted a shade of ocean blue. Christian unfolded the chairs he'd brought with him and decided that tomorrow he'd go thrift shopping. The previous owners had left a blue couch that was in nice condition. Chris hung up the paintings and put up a few of his personal pictures and posters, laid down a few Oriental rugs salvaged from a junk shop, and put his food in the cupboards and refrigerator. There. He was done for tonight. Now he could fiddle around on his guitar.   
  
Obviously the gods had other plans. At that moment, the door flew open, revealing a short, dark-haired man with a camera around his neck and a group of three others. One was a bald man with Ozzy Osbourne-esque sunglasses. Another was a petite girl with dark purple hair and kohl rimmed eyes who was on the shoulders of a chocolate colored man.   
"Hello!" The cameraman chirped, grinning so broadly it almost hurt Chris's own face.   
"Um...hi."   
"I am Theo Lenius, resident welcomer. And you are...?"  
"Chris Foster."  
"This is Eldrin." Theo gestured to the Ozzy man, who waved. "And Pixie," he said about the purple girl who was wearing some strange outfit covered in purple lace. "And Debia."   
The large man slipped the Pixie girl off his back and she ran to Chris and hugged him, her bright, flowing skirt trailing behind her. With the skirt, she wore a dancer's leotard. He breathed in the heavy scent of peppermint and something organic. "Welcome to Los Angeles!"   
"You play?" Debia picked up the acoustic guitar.   
Chris nodded, a bit overwhelmed.  
"Me too." Eldrin said.   
"We came to ask you if you wanted to come with us tonight." Theo began. "To Red's."  
"Huh?"   
"Red's. It's a club. A rave, rather."  
"Uh...I don't know."  
"Come on!" Pixie giggled, drinking the pink liquid that was overflowing from her goblet. "It's so fun!"  
He pondered for a few moments, fiddling with the strings on his guitar. "I don't have anything to wear."   
"We can take care of that. Come on up to my apartment."  
  
Theo's apartment was a mess of film negatives, camera parts, and various prints lying all over. One picture, a woman bathing in glitter, caught Chris's eye and he picked it up. "Who's this?" He asked Theo.  
Pixie answered for him. "That's Di."  
Chris was transfixed by the gorgeous figure in the bathtub. Her body was completely covered with glitter so no nudity could be seen and she looked like a mermaid. "Who?" He finally asked.  
"Diamond. She's the DJ at Red's."  
"Oh." He breathed. "She's beautiful."  
"You'll see her tonight." Debia added. "She puts on a spectacular show."  
"Great."   
"HERE WE GO!" Theo burst back into the room and noticed the picture in Chris's hands. "I do lots of shots of Di." He shoved a shirt Chris's way and said, "You can wear those pants. They're fine."  
Within moments, Chris was wearing a long-sleeved black shirt with thin gray pinstripes and Pixie was putting eyeliner on him, much to his dismay. "I look like a girl, Pixie!" He protested.   
"You look sexy." She giggled, running her fingers through his hair and messing it up. "You look glam-punk. Want to try mascara?"  
"No. Way." Chris stated, trying not to smile. "Maybe later."   
"Here." Theo handed Chris a glass of what looked to be Mountain Dew and two pills.   
"What are these? Theo, I don't do drugs."  
"It's not a drug. It's E." Eldrin laughed.   
"Ecstasy? That's a drug."  
"It's harmless, Chris. Just take it."  
"Ohh..." Pixie cooed. "His first taste of Ecstasy!"  
Several minutes after taking the pills, Chris felt all warm and fuzzy. He loved everyone and everything and all he wanted to do was dance. The whole world seemed to be rose-colored and he was delighted with the rush of emotions he began to feel. It was as if it would be impossible to be sad.   
  
A rush of color and music signaled their arrival at Red's. Bright lights, hot bodies, loud music. It was almost like Studio 54 of the 70's or the crazy Moulin Rouge from turn-of-the-century Paris. Chris's eyes were full of figures dancing crazily; a girl with blonde curls, a short pink dress and ribbons in her hair squealed and pulled him onto the dance floor. Maybe it was his drugged-out mind that made him think they were all dancing almost in sync, but he doubted it. There were people dressed like mimes and harlequins and hundreds of girls in strange attire. One wore wings, another dressed like Marie Antoinette, and one played up the Britney Spear's schoolgirl thing. Men wore their hair in rainbow colored Mohawks and some wore Victorian suits. It was a psychotic blend of cultures and fashions. Their bodies pulsated along with the music and everything was flashing from the strobe lights that hung overhead.   
  
And suddenly, everything was silent.  
"The...French...are glad to die...for love." Marilyn Monroe's throaty, sensual vocals were combined with raw trance music that immediately sent the ravers into cheers. "They delight in fighting duels."   
Chris's eyes searched the crowd for the person making this music.   
"It's her." Theo whispered. "Diamond."   
Glitter showered from the sky and covered the dancing clubbers like rain. "But I prefer a man who lives and gives..."   
"Expensive jewels!" The ravers shouted, whirling about and throwing glitter everywhere. Chris had sparkles in his hair, in his eyes, on his clothes.   
Then the music began to play...the jazzy, musical-esque Marilyn melody joined with the hectic club beats. And someone swung from the ceiling on a diamond-encrusted trapeze. She landed perfectly at the DJ booth and she yelled "Are you ready to DANCE YOUR ASSES OFF?" Her hair was long and red, streaked with glitter. Glitter covered her eyes and coated her long lashes. She wore a black corset top covered in what seemed to be diamonds and long black pants. Her hands moved skillfully across the booth, doing things unknown to DJ-illiterate Chris. "A kiss on the hand may be quite continental..." Marilyn sang.   
"But diamonds are a girl's best friend." Diamond added, her singing voice taking Chris's breath away. He was dizzy, but he wasn't sure if it was from the E or from the vision before him. He was in love. Or he thought he was, at least.  
Then she began to play a combination of "Rhythm of the Night" and "Material Girl." The little-girl-figure that Chris had been dancing with was long gone and so were Pixie, Eldrin, Debia, and Theo.   
A shake of her hips and a toss of her hair sent Diamond's crowd cheering. She climbed up on top of her DJ table (which must have been quite a task in the heels she wore) danced on it, singing along with Madonna. "Some boys kiss me, some boys hug me, I think they're okay. If they can't give me proper credit, I just walk away." She grinned slyly Chris's way and winked.   
She took the microphone in her hands and shouted, "Let me walk on you!"   
As if they were puppies at her beck and call, the ravers put up their hands and Diamond stepped off her stage and onto them. She paraded through the crowd, letting them throw her around. They always caught her. No one would let her fall.  
  
But this time they did. Di's slim body dropped into the arms of Chris. She looked into his eyes, unfazed, and smiled slightly, looking amused. "Thanks," she whispered.   
"Um...you're welcome?"   
"Just throw me back up onstage." She prodded.   
"In those shoes?"  
"I can do it."   
"Okay..." He pushed her featherlight body back up onto the stage and she went to the DJ booth. Another bunch of fiddling became Beck's cover of Bowie's "Diamond Dogs" mixed with the polka-like sounds of the circus. And then, after more frenzied dancing and showers of glitter, Di did a backflip and miraculously her legs caught on the trapeze. Dangling upside down in a spectacular acrobatic way, she sang with Marilyn who had returned. "Diamonds are a girl's best friend!"   
  
And then she was gone.   
  
He let himself go crazy and dance with everyone he saw. The mixture of Ecstasy, music, euphoria at being the one that Diamond noticed, the one that caught her and talked to her, and the strange lighting of Red's had made him so deliriously happy he could barely breathe.   
  
Hours later, dizzy and sweating from the lights that changed from hot pink to magenta to sky blue to bright white, someone came up behind him and whispered, "Come upstairs in about ten minutes. She's waiting for you."  
  
END OF CHAPTER 1 


	2. And Life is Like a Song

Chapter 2  
  
  
Chris's heart pounded as he climbed the stairs. The upper floor of Red's was cool and all the walls were painted a deep crimson. He paused at the door marked "Di" and listened to the noise inside. She was singing. "Show me cold hard cash and I will turn on my affection." A series of breathy gasps followed. Was she alone? He hoped so as he opened the door and peered in.   
  
Unbeknownst to Diamond, someone was watching. She had a song by Amiel, called "Meet Me in the Red Room," on full blast and she was dancing and singing along. "The show can start as soon as I see money on the table." She sang, winking at her reflection in the mirror and twirling around like a child ballerina.   
"Excuse me? Miss...Miss...?" It was that guy from downstairs, timidly stepping inside her dressing room.  
"Di." She said, disguising her discomfort. Her hand went instinctively to the volume on her stereo and she turned it down. "What's up?" With a nonchalant flip of her hair, he was immediately charmed.   
"Someone...someone said you wanted to see me?" He fumbled.  
Her eyebrows furrowed. "I never said anything of the sort."  
"Oh. I'm sorry then. I'll go back downstairs." Chris, disheartened, let his eyes rove around the room before falling on some sheets of paper on which what looked to be lyrics were scribbled. "Excuse me, do you write?"  
"As in...?"  
"Songs? Poems? Columns? Journals? Novels?"  
"Songs. I want to be a singer." Without even really knowing his young man, Di was just shooting out facts about herself. She didn't feel the least bit uncomfortable now.   
"What a coincidence." He smiled a bit.  
"You sing too?"  
"Well, not really, but I'm a songwriter."  
"You're kidding me, aren't you?"  
"No. I'm serious. It's why I moved to L.A."  
"What a coincidence." She repeated. "I've been looking for a good songwriter. I can write lyrics but I'm not exactly instrumentally-inclined."  
"You've met your perfect partner." He grinned.   
"Oh really?" She shot him another one of those delightful amused looks. "Well, I can't hire you until I hear you play, right?"  
"You wouldn't happen to have a guitar or a piano or anything?"  
"Not in here. But I bet Charlie does. Wait here a minute, will ya?" Di breezed out of the room and left Chris standing on the dark pink carpet, looking around. Sex and the City DVDs, loads of makeup by Nars and Benefit and Stila, shoes by Jimmy Choo and loads of CDs littered the room. He looked closely at her collection of discs; a little Tori Amos, some Beatles, some obscure bands he'd never heard of, Aretha Franklin, soundtracks, Mozart, Frank Sinatra, Janis Joplin, Coldplay, Nelly Furtado, and Elvis were only some of the hundreds of cases he noted. "Wow." He said to himself. "She's got quite a varied taste."  
Feeling just slightly nosy, he looked at her song lyrics.   
"The rain on the streets is like silver," that sounded like Les Miserables, but he continued reading.  
"As silver as the tears that brim.   
Here I stand in the downpour,  
Alone with my thoughts of him."  
  
Interesting. He kept reading, intrigued. "The raindrops are mixed with my tears.   
My body's as drenched as my heart.  
I don't know what I've done.  
I don't know how to undo what I tried to start."  
  
That was where it ended. A series of doodles followed and Di came in again. "Here we go!" She grinned. "I found you one!"  
It was a strange color: dark purple. "It's nice," Chris said, admiring the design. "It's a Fender."  
"Oh?" Di was completely confused but she didn't let on.  
"I have one too."  
"Ohh." She said, still puzzled but pretending she knew what he was talking about. "Here." She gestured to the papers on the bed. "Pick one and show me what you can do."  
Chris grabbed a piece of paper, glanced at it, and ran his hand across the guitar a few times to get the "feel" of it. He placed his fingers on a chord and began to play, feebly singing along.  
  
Di didn't even know this guy's name. He was nothing more than a person who had caught her when she fell, but she was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. His fingers flew on the guitar like her hands on the DJ booth. Long, artistic fingers played the chords that would soon be the music to her song.   
"The show must go on,  
Even though I'm dying inside.  
To them I'm just an actress.  
They don't care about the tears I've cried."   
  
Wow. He was talented. How someone could whip out a melody like that in just a few minutes was pretty incredible to Di. She found herself singing along with him.   
"They're ignoring the fact that I'm wilting  
Right here in front of their face.  
They don't care; I'm just a bit of fun   
But I'm shattering all over the place."  
  
When Di sang, she forgot who she was, where she was, and everything that was going on around her. It was as if she was in another dimension, completely dedicated to her singing. She was still singing when Chris stopped playing the guitar. He watched her, a rapt expression on his almost boyish, handsome face, and let her keep going. She wasn't singing her song, though. This one was different. He thought it might have been No Doubt, but he wasn't quite sure.   
"Don't let it go away; this feeling has got to stay. And I can't believe I've had this chance now. Don't let it go away."   
He played a few chords along with her on the borrowed guitar. It was No Doubt; he had been correct. He knew the song. So, in perfect harmony, they staged an impromptu performance.  
"New, you're so new. You, you're so new. And I never had this taste in the past. New, you're so new."   
He quit playing and she quit singing. Both just stared at each other, not speaking, not moving, barely breathing.   
"I'm Chris." He said. "Chris Foster."  
"I'm Diamond. Di."  
"I'll call you tomorrow? Maybe we can get together?" He asked hopefully.  
"Sure. Are you coming back here tomorrow night?"  
"Maybe."   
"Yeah, here's my number." She scrawled a series of digits on a pink slip of paper. "We can get together tomorrow, probably."  
"Maybe lunch?"   
"Maybe."  
"Thanks for letting me 'rehearse' with you." Chris grinned. "Goodnight."  
"Goodnight."  
He paused before closing the door. "I think this partnership is going to go places."  
She laughed. "Oh yes. I can visualize the Grammys already."   
"Goodnight, Di."  
"Night, Chris."  
  
  
Alone in her dressing room, removing her show clothing and putting on comfortable Old Navy sweats and a huge sweatshirt that was for a man several times her size, Di looked at herself in the mirror. She looked different. She almost glowed.   
"When you gonna make up your mind?" She sang, voice whispery. "When you gonna love you as much as I do? When you gonna make up your mind? Cause things are gonna change so fast...all the white horses are still in bed. I tell you that I'll always want you near; you say that things change, my dear."   
Di looked out the window at busy, lit-up Los Angeles. From her sky-high dressing room, it looked like one of those little toy cities that she'd played with as a child.   
She continued. "Boys get discovered as winter melts, flowers competing for the sun. Years go by and I'm here still. Withering where some snowman was. Mirror, mirror, where's the crystal palace? But I only can see myself. Skating around the truth...but I know that the ice is getting thin..."   
He, Chris, had brought emotions upon her she hadn't felt for a long time. Di slid Tori into her CD player and sang along with "Winter," letting herself drift off into that dream world she created for herself when she was singing.  
"When you gonna make up your mind? When you gonna love you as much as I do? When you gonna make up your mind? Cause things are gonna change so fast; all the white horses are still in bed. I tell you that I'll always want you near. You say that things change, my dear."   
She skipped to "Mother" and let her voice meld with Tori's rich vocals. "Go go go go now. Out of the nest, it's time. Go go go go now, circus girl without a safety net.  
Here, here, now, don't cry.   
You raised your hand for the assignment.   
Tuck those ribbons under your helmet- be a good soldier.  
First my left foot right behind the other.  
Pantyhose running in the cold."  
  
Di shivered. She wasn't sure what to think of Chris. He was...so different. She liked him. Oh yes, she liked him.  
"Mother the car is here.  
Somebody leave the light on.  
Green limousine for the redhead dancing dancing girl   
And when I dance for him   
Somebody leave the light on   
Just in just in case I like the dancing I can remember where I come from."  
Then, with her voice barely above a whisper, Di sang, "I walked into your dream and now I've forgotten how to dream."  
She switched off the stereo, grabbed her keys, and headed home.  
  
  
He couldn't stop thinking about her. He'd been trying to sleep for several hours now but it was obvious he wasn't going to sleep that night. Chris paged through a book, trying in vain to distract himself. He fiddled around on his guitar. But still, images of Di passed through his brain constantly.  
Making up his mind to call her the next morning, he turned off the light.  
  
  
She wasn't getting much rest either. With her cat Magnolia curled into the bend of her knees, purring loudly, and the loud arguing of her neighbors, sleep was hard. Di let her fingers gently graze the cat's soft fur and let her thoughts drift back to Chris.  
What was it like to fall in love? She hadn't had time for men anymore. Her last boyfriend had probably been around senior year of high school. Di was craved for attention, starving for love.   
She desperately wanted to call him. But it was almost four in the morning and she doubted he'd be awake. Yesterday she'd heard on the radio that if you pinch part of your ear for thirty seconds, your cravings would go away. Di tried it. For thirty seconds, she tried to forget about Chris.  
It was impossible.  
  
She woke at ten the next morning, hating the alarm clock but waking with a sense of excitement. She was going to see him today.   
Was she excited about the partnership or something more?  
Did he feel the way she felt?  
What if he didn't?  
"God, Di," she cursed herself. "You sound like you're thirteen again."  
  
At noon, after two hours of anxious waiting, Chris finally called her. The phone only rang once and then she was speaking. "Hey."   
"Hi."   
An awkward silence passed between them.  
"Want to go out for lunch?" He asked.  
"Sure. Where?"  
"I'll let you pick. You've been here longer than I have, I suppose."  
She smiled into the telephone. "Okay. Pick me up?"  
"Where do you live?"  
Di gave him her address. "See you in ten minutes!" He said, trying to hide his excitement.  
"Bye!" She was feeling the exact same way as him. Hastily she threw on a pink slip-dress and some funky earrings she'd found at a thrift store, put on a pair of flip-flops and pulled her hair into a ponytail. "I don't look too overdone, do I, Maggie?"  
Magnolia just meowed. "I really like this guy." Di confided to her cat, who licked her paws aloofly. "But I don't know if he likes me."  
Two short honks signaled his arrival. Grabbing her purse, Di smiled at herself in the mirror and ran out the door to meet him.  
  
Weezer was playing "Holiday" when she slid into his car. "Wow." She breathed. "Nice."  
"You like it?"  
"I love it."  
He pushed the accelerator and they were off, Di giving directions to the restaurant of her choice. "Here." She said when they stopped.   
"What's up with this place?" He asked, staring up at the huge elephant in wonder.   
"It's called The Elephant."  
"Figures. You actually EAT in there?"  
"Yup. I reserved the head area for us."  
"Great. Now I can say that I've eaten in an elephant's head."   
  
Surprisingly, there were no other customers that afternoon. "Weird." Di remarked as she sipped her raspberry spritzer. "There's usually tons of people here."  
Chris stared at her and she smiled. "What are you staring at?"  
"You."  
"I figured that." She paused for a moment to stare right back and then blurted, "Let's talk to about the music, shall we?"  
"Oh, sure."  
"I really liked your playing, and I was wondering if maybe you'd like to be my partner? My right-hand man?"  
He didn't even think before saying, "Of course."  
"Great." She held out her hand and he shook it. A volt of what felt like electricity passed between their two hands and neither wanted to let go.   
The waitress, bringing their food, interrupted the moment. Their hands flew apart and both concentrated on their food.   
"I'm sorry about that," Chris began to apologize.  
"What's to be sorry about?"  
"N...Nothing."   
"Okay then." Di beamed a smile at him and instantly he was happy again. She looked at him very closely and began to sing. "New; you're so new. You; you're so new. And I never had this taste in the past..."  
"Don't let it go away." He sang back. "This feeling has got to stay."  
He was lost in her eyes and she was lost in his. But then she broke the spell by saying, "I can't do this, Chris. I can't fall in love now."  
"Why? What the world needs now is love, sweet love!" He grinned.  
"You're crazy." She laughed.  
"You may be right. I may be crazy, but it just may be a lunatic you're looking for." Chris sang to her, down on one knee.  
"I just don't know if I can do this. If things went wrong between us...the partnership would go bad."  
"But on and on, from the moment I wake to the moment I sleep, I'll be there by your side."  
She smiled wistfully, wanting to give in. But she had to hold out for the music. "I've locked my heart, I'll keep my feelings there. I've stocked my heart with icy frigid air."  
"Just you try and stop me; I'll be waiting in line just to see if you care."  
That hurt. Chris continued stubbornly. "Call me irresponsible, call me unreliable. Throw in undependable too. Do my foolish alibis bore you?"  
Di bit her lip and shook her head. She racked her brain for something to sing. "My head just aches when I think of the things that I shouldn't have done. But life is for living, we all know, and I don't want to live it alone."  
"Well, I'm not too clever, I just adore you!" Chris sang, grabbing her hand and pulling her close to him.   
She grinned up at him and sang, "I'm just everybody else's girl...maybe one day I'll be my own."  
"When you gonna make up your mind? When you gonna love you as much as I do?" He whispered the words of Tori into her ear. "All I ever need is here in my arms. All I ever wanted, all I ever needed, is here in my arms."  
Chris and Di were oblivious to the waitresses that were witnessing this singing spectacle. Chris sang quietly to Di, holding her close. "Something in the way you move attracts me like no other lover. Somewhere in your smile you know that I don't need no other lover." Then he paused and everything in Los Angeles seemed to stop. "I love you." Chris whispered.  
"I love you." Di echoed, and then sang, "At last. My love has come along. My lonely days are over. And life is like a song!"  
And then their lips met. It was a kiss like Christmas lights, like hot chocolate with marshmallows melting in the heat. It was a kiss like the heat of the sun on your body when you lie by the ocean. It was like champagne, like chocolate. They were lost in its dreamy aura, completely, irrevocably in love.  
  
  
Songs I used in my medley (many thanks to the glorious Madi who helped me with song ideas!)  
"New" by No Doubt  
"What the World Needs Now is Love" is from My Best Friend's Wedding (I don't remember who sings it. Gladys Knight?)  
"You May Be Right" by Billy Joel   
"Shiver" by Coldplay  
"Through With Love" by Marilyn Monroe  
"Call Me Irresponsible" by Jack Jones  
"Life is for Living" by Coldplay  
"Girl" by Tori Amos  
"Winter" by Tori Amos (the In My Arms bit after that was covered by her and I don't know who sang it originally or what it's called)  
"Something" by the Beatles  
"At Last" by Etta James 


	3. Walking With You

Chapter 3: Walking With You  
  
  
They whooshed through the streets of downtown Los Angeles, getting freckled by the blazing sun and singing along to the radio.   
Chris turned up the volume and sang to Di, who sipped a cherry Slurpee and laughed happily. "I believe in miracles since you came along."  
"You sexy thing." They sang together. Chris leaned over and kissed her cherry-stained lips, tasting the frothy concoction. "Mmmm, Slurpee."   
  
Di kicked off her flip-flops and let her legs dangle off the side of the car. She leaned her head against the camel-colored leather of the seat and listened to his voice as he sang. She was so completely happy that the skies seemed to be super-bright blue and bird songs drowned out the loudness of the traffic and the commotion of the people. There was nothing, nothing more wonderful than being in love.  
  
Chris obviously thought the same thing. He stopped singing like Louis Armstrong and leaned over to kiss Di again. "I love you, Chris!" She proclaimed. "Did you hear that, guy with the fake toupee in the car next to us? I LOVE CHRIS FOSTER! Did you hear that, bubble-gum-snapping lady? I love Chris! I love, love, love-"  
He silenced her by giving her another kiss. They were so wrapped up in each other that neither noticed the light had turned green. Finally, a loud honking from bubble-gum lady brought them back to reality and they drove on.  
  
"Uh-oh." Chris's car stopped abruptly on a road beside the beach.   
"What?" Di sat up.   
"We're out of gas."  
"Great. And nowhere near a gas station, either."  
"We'll have to sleep on the beach."  
"What?"  
"Sleep on the beach."  
"No way. I am not sleeping in the-"  
Chris was already out of the car. "C'mon, Di, let's go for a walk."  
"What about your car?"  
"We'll take the keys."  
"Okay...if you say so." Di hopped out of the car and put on her shoes. "You're crazy, Chris."  
"I know."  
"Maybe it's a lunatic I'm looking for." Di sang softly, linking her arm through his. The beach they'd come upon was strangely uninhabited by the hoards of people that usually let themselves fry on it. Only one or two sunbaked bodies lay on the sand today. Di took off her flip-flops and left them on the beach; she'd gotten them at Target for three dollars, so who really cared if they floated away? "Take off your shoes," she prodded Chris.   
"Why?" He asked.  
"Because. It's so much more romantic this way. Just us, the waves, and the setting sun."   
"And that fat merman over there." Chris quipped dryly. "He's quite sexy."   
The merman rolled over and grunted, causing the two to go into hysterical fits of laughter.   
  
In contrast to the bright-blue ocean and the white-sugar-sand of the beach, the sky was a deep purple and the sun was glowing topaz. In the air floated the scent of jasmine and McDonald's French fry grease. Of course, to the sense-intoxicated, giddy lovers, the world was perfect. Their footsteps made imprints on the wet sand as they walked, fingers intertwined, neither speaking.  
Chris studied Di's profile. The wind blew her sandy red hair softly across her face. Her large blue eyes drank in everything about the night hungrily, and a smile played upon her lips. He kissed her bare shoulder and inhaled the scent of Ralph Lauren's "Romance" perfume. (Having a socialite mother educated you on these things.) Di's raspberry colored dress fluttered in the wind like the fragile wings of a butterfly.   
He sounded like a sap.  
But he didn't care. He wanted to be a mushy sap just for one day. Chris loved Di so much his heart was going to burst.   
With her toes, Di drew a huge heart in the sand around them. They stood inside the confines of that heart for a moment, simply standing with their arms around each other.   
"My shoe floated away!" Di shrieked, noticing her pink flip-flop floating on the lapping waves of the ocean. "I have to go save it!" She hiked up her skirt and ran into the water, laughing. Chris watched her, a huge grin on his face.   
"Come help me!" She cried. "I have to swim to get it!"   
"Here I come, fair maiden!" He ran in after her, the warmth of the water a pleasant surprise. "Your knight valiant will save your shoe!"  
They were soaked and laughing hysterically when the shoe had finally been retrieved from a watery death. The fat man and the others who had been sunbathing had left the beach, leaving Di and Chris all alone. In the now silvery moonlight, they continued their walk on the sand. Chris was about to speak but Di cut him off. "Shh! You'll ruin the moment!"  
  
The only noise was the lapping of the waves and the cries of the seagulls flying overhead. It was as if they had left Los Angeles and were in their own island paradise, but of course that was not so. "It's magical." He whispered. "Di?"  
His redheaded lover was completely absorbed in her thoughts. "What?" She said after a long moment.  
"Sing to me."  
And so she did.   
  
"Walking with you  
Hand in palm, palm in hand  
It's great to be your special friend  
I wonder if you'll ever land  
Next to my heart where you belong  
Walking along  
Singing a song  
Walking with you."  
  
Chris smiled slightly and put his arm around her shoulders. She slung hers lazily around his waist and put her head on his shoulder, still singing.   
  
"Walking with you  
Heart in steps, step on beach.  
Beach in sun, have some fun.  
It's great to be your special friend;   
I wonder if you'll ever hand over your heart to me.  
Walking along,  
Singing our song  
Walking with you."  
  
Chris added his voice to hers after she laid a soft kiss on his cheek. "Walking with you, life in eyes, the light in your eyes."  
"I know that you love me too." Di sang.   
"Walking with you...walking with you...walking with you."   
  
Di yawned, breaking the spell they were under. "I'm tired." She sighed.   
"It's going to be quite cold, sleeping under the stars."  
"And romantic."  
"You are the hopeless romantic, aren't you, darling Diamond?"  
"I am." They grabbed hands and ran back to Christian's Mustang, which, miraculously, was unharmed.   
"I think I have a blanket in the trunk..." Chris rummaged through boxes of unpacked junk he'd brought from San Diego. "A ha! I do!"  
Di was already curled up in the backseat, staring up at the sky. "Hey, move over." Chris watched Di roll off the seat and onto the floor. He lay down and invited her to drape herself over him. She did so, spreading the blanket over them.   
"Goodnight." She said softly before closing her eyes. "I love you."  
"I love you too, Diamond-Girl."   
  
Di couldn't sleep. She was lying in Chris's arms, completely content, gazing at the stars. They looked like the sea of lighters at a concert; a sea of lighters she hoped to see shining for her. In Di's mind, a song was being written.  
"Underneath the stars, lying in your arms  
There's nothing more I need than just to be here.  
Listening to the beating of your heart.  
There's nothing in the world for me to fear."  
  
It was mediocre right now, but Di didn't care. She yawned softly, turned to Chris, and kissed him softly. The sun was rising over the ocean, casting them and the beach in a warm pink. "In the wee small hours of the morning," she sang softly in his ear to wake him. "While the whole world is fast asleep, I lie awake and think about my boy, and never ever think of counting sheep."  
His eyes opened slightly. "What time is it?" He groaned.  
"About four."  
"Uhh...I wanna go back to sleep, Di."   
"No! Don't! Let's sit on the car and look at the sunrise before the cops come to kick us off the beach."  
Chris sluggishly sat up and joined Di on the hood of his car. "Isn't it pretty?" She asked, wrapping herself in the blanket. "You cold?"  
"Yeah. Come over here and warm me up."  
Di slid over obligingly and put the blanket over his shoulders. "Chris?"  
"Yeah?"  
"How are we getting this car off the beach?"  
"Are you strong?" He grinned wickedly at her.  
"I don't know..."  
"Think we could push it?"  
"To where?"  
"That gas station over there."  
"Yeah, we could do it." Di hopped off the hood and started to push the car. "Get off it!" She laughed.  
Chris joined her at the back fenders and together they shoved the car a few feet. "This isn't gonna work. Have a cell phone?"  
"Why didn't you think of that yesterday?" Di asked.   
"Because I wanted to spend time with you on the beach, that's why."  
"Oh, you're such a sweetheart." She kissed him playfully and then swatted him away. "Okay, I'll call a tow truck or something."  
  
Two hours later, they were on their way to Chris's house. "Would you mind if I washed the car?" He asked Di, who was drinking yet another Slurpee. "They're my weakness," she'd told him at 7-11.  
She shook her head and fiddled with the radio. Chris pulled his Mustang into a car wash and asked for two buckets and some rags. He worked busily on his car, shining up the fenders and that strange green paint. Di's eyes began to glimmer evilly and she grabbed her bucket. Aretha sang "R-E-S-P-E-C-T" as Di splashed just a little water on Chris's shirt. Just enough to get him soaked.   
He turned around with such a priceless expression on his face that Di desperately wished she had a camera with her. "You are gonna get it, little girl." He stated before flicking his sopping rag at her. She shrieked and jumped on his back with her soapy rag in her hand. When she wrung it out down his back, he whirled around and Di jumped off his back, still shrieking and giggling like a little girl. Chris chased her around the car, the gas pumps, and the building, his bucket overflowing with soapy water ready to be dumped on her head.   
"I surrender!" She said, throwing up her hands.  
Chris put his arms around his wet, stringy-haired Diamond and pulled her close. "You look pretty cute all wet."  
"So do you." She gave him a little kiss and then ran towards the Mustang. "Why don't we go to..." she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and gave him a seductive smile. "My house?"  
He burst out laughing at her expression. "Sure." Chris winked and hopped in the Mustang.   
"Honey child," Di drawled. "Why don't you use the door?"  
"Haven't you seen Dukes of Hazzard?"  
"No. Why?"  
"That's how they get into their cars."  
"Okay. If I need to know something more on 70's TV, I will be sure I ask you." She teased.   
"How do I get to your place?" He asked as he turned up the volume on the radio.  
"Oh! I love this song!" Di said, grabbing her empty Slurpee cup. "My mom and I used to sing this all the time when I was a little kid."  
"Listen baby! Ain't no mountain high, ain't no valley low, ain't no river wide enough baby." Chris sang.  
"If you need me, call me. No matter where you are, no matter how far!" Di responded dramatically into her Slurpee cup. "Just call my name, I'll be there in a hurry, you don't have to worry!"  
Together they sang, "Cause baby, there ain't no mountain high enough, ain't no valley low enough, ain't no river wide enough to keep me from getting to you, baby!"   
Di let her long hair fly in the wind, singing and giving Chris directions to her house.   
  
She opened the door and Chris's eyes had to adjust to the bright colors. "It's like living in a rainbow."  
"I know," Di laughed. "I like it." A small white blur flew down the floor and onto Di's shoulder before Chris could blink. "Hey, Maggie."  
"That's my sister's name."  
"This is Magnolia, my cat. Maggie, meet Chris. Chris, this is Maggie." Di flopped down with the cat on a huge, green, floral print sofa and lay back, letting the small white furball crawl all over her.   
"Know what?" Chris asked.   
"What?"   
"I smell like ocean water and car soap."  
"Me too. Should I show you to the shower? Or better yet, the tub?" Di teased.   
She led him through the yellow painted kitchen and towards the bathroom that was ocean blue. "What does your room look like?"  
"That's for you to find out after you shower." She pushed him towards the bathroom and grinned teasingly at him.   
"Why aren't you going to shower with me?" Chris asked.  
"I don't like being that close in that little confined place. You take your turn, I'll take mine."  
"Whatever, crazy girl."  
  
After her shower, wrapped in a pink silk kimono purchased in Chinatown, Di found Chris sitting on her couch, strumming the guitar she'd pretty much stolen from her brother. "Hi," she whispered, coming into the room and sitting down beside him. She put her head on his shoulder and began to sing along.   
"Underneath the stars, lying in your arms  
There's nothing more I need than just to be here.  
Listening to the beating of your heart.  
There's nothing in the world for me to fear.  
And I love you.  
  
I think right now  
I'll just melt into you  
Into the ocean of your eyes  
Don't let this dream be over; don't let this dream be through.  
Cause I love you."  
  
END OF CHAPTER 3  
  
Authoress's Note: Guys, you are severely depressing me. I hate to sound all greedy and dismal and stuff, but  
I  
NEED  
REVIEWS.  
I'm sorry. If I don't have reviews (and the ones that I do have, did you know I love you all? Camie, Madi, Celyn, Hannita, Brown-Eyes, you are all sweethearts.) my self-esteem goes down down down.  
I know, I'm so pathetic.  
This was the fluffiest thing I've ever written. I'm very proud of myself. 


	4. Fun at the Photo Shoot

Going back to Red's was like tripping on acid. This time, not under the influence of Ecstasy, Chris's mind was still in a blur. The music was loud; transcendent Indian sitars melded with the heavy synthesizers in an intoxicating blend of music genres. The air was thick with perfumes, violet and hazy with the smoke. Lights burned down upon them all, making their grinding bodies glisten with sweat. The clubbers, in their strange themed costumes, spun wildly, drank, laughed, sang, and seduced. This time, Chris noticed a French maid, a fairy, and that same baby doll who had been there two nights before. Di had disappeared upstairs and told him he'd just have to wait to see her.  
  
  
"Has she fucked your brains out yet?" Theo asked.   
"What?" Chris turned a stunned look on his friend.  
"You heard me. Have you done the horizontal tango?"  
Pixie laughed. "The's just a teeny bit stoned. Don't answer him, Chris."   
"I wasn't going to."  
"Di's an amazing fuck."  
"You would know." Pixie snorted.   
"I do."  
"No you don't. Di wouldn't give you the time of day."  
The waterfall of glitter cascading from the sky, signaling Di's entrance, cut Theo off. And once again, Marilyn's breathy vocals were chopped, twisted, and mixed until a strange, unearthly noise blared from the speakers. "The French are glad to die for love...they delight in fighting duels."  
Di, wearing a red, lacy corset top and a short black skirt, sauntered up to her platform and laid her hands on the tables.   
Chris wasn't paying attention to the dancers or to the music. He wasn't moving, was barely breathing, even. His eyes were glued on her.  
His Diamond.   
  
  
After she'd danced, sang, and DJ'ed for what seemed like hours, Di finally escaped. Her ears rang in the silence of Red's upper floor and she wiped sweat from her forehead. Her fingers were raw and they hurt like hell.  
But all was forgotten when she opened her dressing room door and saw Chris there with his guitar, oblivious to her presence. His long fingers moved skillfully on the vibrating strings as he played a complex riff that had to have been something he was just making up.   
"Hey." She whispered, coming in. Chris didn't hear her until she finally gave him a playful smack. "I said hey."  
"Hi." He pulled her close and kissed her.   
"Don't kiss me; I stink." She laughed and pushed him away. "Guess what?"  
"What?"  
"You're magnificent on the guitar and I found myself an agent."  
"Oh, thanks." He paused for a moment. "You found yourself what?"  
"An agent. Harold Ziedfield. He's coming up here to hear us."  
"Thanks for the notice." He said.   
"We can pull it off." She sidled up to him and placed a feathery kiss on his cheek.   
"What time is your agent coming?"  
"In an hour."  
"Good." Chris murmured into her hair. "Then we have time for just a little fun..."  
  
  
When Harold Ziedfield knocked on the door of Di's dressing room and heard the "Come in!" he found two people sitting on the couch, several feet apart from each other. Chris and Di hadn't wanted him to know about their relationship quite yet. And they didn't look a thing like two lovers who had just finished a pretty steamy "horizontal tango" as Theo had put it earlier.   
Harold grinned broadly as the sweetly dressed Di came up to him and offered her hand. "Hi. I'm Di."  
"I'm Harold Ziedfield, dear." He beamed.  
"This is my partner, Chris Foster." The two men shook hands and Di told Harold to sit wherever he wanted. He did so, putting his hands on his plump stomach, and grinned.   
"Okay," he said, clearing his throat. "Let's get straight to business, shall we?"  
Di nodded agreement.   
"With the right relationship between us, the right music, the right talent and the little bit of charisma, stardom is almost guaranteed. Got that, chickpea?"  
"Got it."   
He handed her a piece of paper from his red leather briefcase and she looked through it. "Sounds good to me." Di said once she'd finished reading. "I'd like Chris to look through it as well, if you don't mind?"  
"Go ahead."   
Di let him read the piece of paper, which simply stated Harold's terms and had a place for Di's signature below Harold's. "Does it look fair to you, Chris?" She asked.  
"Yes."  
"Good. Then you'll sign?"  
"I think so." Di grabbed a pink pen from her desk and scrawled her name, "S. Diamond Casablanca." Chris wondered what the S was for and decided he would ask her later. "Can Chris sign?" She asked.  
"Of course. You are a team, aren't you?"  
Di winked at Chris when Harold looked away. He wrote his own name, "Christian Andrew Foster" on the blank provided and handed it to Harold.   
"Now, could you play for me? Chris, from what Di has told me, you're quite the guitar player."  
"And songwriter," Di added.   
"She likes to give me a little too much credit, as you can see." Chris shrugged, picking up his guitar and playing a few chords to warm up.   
"This isn't original," Di began. "We haven't had time to work up any of our original songs, so here before you is our rendition of "Glycerine" by Bush."  
Di began to sing along with Chris's scintillating guitar. "It must be your skin that I'm sinking in; must be for real cause now I can feel."  
Harold's eyes were glued on her as she sang, her face lit up and her voice melodic, smooth, and seductive. "And I didn't mind, it's not my kind. It's not my time to wonder why..."  
  
"I hope they aren't a couple," Harold thought to himself. "If they are, Richard Duke will be furious. He likes to test out his rising young stars before they get signed. And Roxanne Records is the best company around...What a talent both have. She's gorgeous and she sings. He's gorgeous and he writes music. I see stars! I see money!" He beamed ecstatically   
  
They finished the song and Harold applauded enthusiastically when the two had finished. "Wonderful! Wonderful! Spectacular! Spectacular!"   
"Thanks," Di looked down, a bit embarrassed, biting her lip.   
"You make me see stars in the future, Miss Casablanca. Will I see you two tomorrow?"  
"Sure. Where do you want us?"   
"Do you know Theodore Lenius?"  
Both nodded.   
"Well, I've assigned him to the project of your very first photo shoot, Di."  
"No kidding?"  
"Can you be at his studio tomorrow? You too, Chris."  
"Yeah, we can."  
"Oh, and one last question before I leave. Are you two...involved?"  
Di shook her head. "No, we're not." She lied.   
"Okay. I will see you two tomorrow at about noon. Cheerio!" Harold gave Di a hug and shook Chris's hand, grinned happily, and left them alone in the dressing room.   
  
"I don't like lying." Chris said.  
"Me either, but did you see the look on his face? If we would have said yes, I wonder what he would have done."  
"I still don't like the fact we're lying."  
There was an uncomfortable moment of silence between them, and then Chris spoke up again. "Hey, Di-Girl, what's the S stand for in your name?"  
"I knew you were going to ask that. Do I HAVE to tell you?"  
He gave her sad puppy eyes and she laughed. "Okay, okay. It stands for...Susanna."  
"Oh Susanna, oh, don't you cry for me!"   
"Shut up! I hate it!" Di smacked Chris playfully to shut him up. "It's awful!"  
"It's cute, Susie."  
"Don't call me that..." Di warned. "I am Di, not Susanna."  
"Okay...Susanna."  
"If you call me that again, I swear that I will never ever kiss, touch, or fuck you ever again."  
"Whoa!" Chris held up his hands in mock horror. "I promise!"  
"Now kiss me and take me home." Di commanded, tilting her face as an invite. He did so and grabbed his car keys.   
"C'mon, Princess Di, let's go home."  
  
"C'mon, Di-Girl, work it!" Theo yelled, snapping pictures of Di in various poses. "Pout. Wink. Make looveeee to the camera."   
Chris, watching the spectacle from Theo's side, whistled as Di wrapped herself in a faux tiger rug. She looked over at him and smiled sexily, licking her lips. "Porn star," Chris mouthed.   
"All right, go change." Theo put down the camera and shooed her away. "Go put on the low black pants and the black top. Then go over to Natasha," he gestured to his black-haired assistant, "and let her do your makeup. Chris, you too. Go over to Nat and let her put some eyeliner on you and mess up your hair a little bit. I'm gonna use you in these few shots, 'kay?"   
Chris, deciding the whole eyeliner thing wasn't so bad, nodded and let Natasha run some Bed Head gel through his hair and stencil some eyeliner on his eyes.   
"It feels like you're writing on my eye!" He said. Natasha laughed and sprayed his face with something in a weird brush. "What's that?"  
"It's just airbrush stuff." She answered. "Make your skin look flawless."  
"Oh, sure." Chris was totally confused. "Makeup stuff."  
"You're done."  
Di emerged, wearing dangerously low black leather pants and a one-shouldered black lace top. Her hair was tousled and she hopped willingly into Nat's chair to get her makeup done. When she was finished, a crimson-lipped, dark-eyed seductress had taken her place. She purred like a jungle cat as she sidled over to Theo and said, "What do you want?"  
  
"Okay, Di, let Chris sling his arm around your waist and grab his hand," Theo instructed, camera in hand. "And place it on your hip. Pull your pants down a little bit, girl. Show just a little stomach."  
Di did as she was instructed, sliding Chris's hand seductively down her stomach. Unable to keep the straight, pouty face that Theo had told her to put on, she burst out laughing. Theo's camera flashed continuously, catching little intimate moments between the two. Chris gently cupping his hands around Di's face, the two of them staring into one another's eyes. Di playfully swatting away Chris as he leaned to kiss her. Di slung over Chris's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Di pretending to play Chris's guitar and Chris pretending to sing.   
"Chris, go away. This is just Di now." Theo grinned from behind his camera. "Di, go change your clothes. Put on those dark Capri pants and that short white shirt. Put your hair in a ponytail."  
"Yes, Master." Di saluted Theo and ran off to change her clothes.   
  
"You love her?" Theo asked, going over to the stereo and sliding in a few CDs.   
"I do." Chris said, staring off after her.   
"She's a nice girl," Nat added.   
"Mmm hmm." Chris agreed.   
Theo sang along with the Pet Shop Boys who were blasting from the stereo, singing the 80's pop hit "West End Girls." He did a little dance with Natasha while waiting for Di to finish changing. Finally, she did, her hair in a ponytail and her face scrubbed clean of makeup. Her button-down white shirt was tied to expose her flat stomach.   
"West End Girls!" She exclaimed, a huge grin on her face. "I love this song!" She danced around the studio and let Theo take picture after picture.   
The CDs changed and the soundtrack to Dirty Dancing came on. "I wonder where Harry is," Di mused.   
"Oh! I forgot to tell you; he's not coming. You're supposed to meet him tonight at six at Red's, he said."  
"Great." Di pouted. "Our day's shot, Chris."  
"It's not shot yet. We have this whole photo shoot ahead of us..."  
"So get started already!" Theo mock-complained. Di shot him a glare and he snapped her picture.   
"Love..." Di began to sing along with the stereo, throwing a "come-hither" look Chris's way. "Love is strange. Lot of people take it for a game. Once you get it, you'll never wanna quit. Once you've had it, you're in an awful fix."  
She crawled around the floor and singing, blinded by the flash of Theo's camera. "Come here," she mouthed to Chris. "Many people don't understand. They think lovin' is money in the hand."   
Chris slid down beside her. "Your sweet loving is better than a kiss, but when you leave me, sweet kisses I miss."  
Di stood and slyly sashayed away. "Sylvia?" Chris mouthed.  
"Yes, Mickey?" Click, click, click went Theo's camera.  
"How do you call your lover boy?"  
"C'mere, loverboy!" She winked.  
"And if he doesn't answer?"  
"Oh loverboy!"   
"And if he STILL doesn't answer?"  
"I simply say..." She moved back to his side and rubbed her nose against his. "Baby, oh baby, my sweet baby, you're the one."  
Chris sang along with her. "Baby, oh baby, my sweet baby, you're the one."  
They ended the song in a kiss.  
And Theo snapped away.  
  
  
END OF CHAPTER 4  
  
Thanks to: Madi, who inspired the Dirty Dancing part. I dedicate this chapter to everyone! I loveth you all! Guess who makes an appearance in the next chapter?  
RICHARD DUKE!!!!!!!!!!  
*scary music plays* 


	5. The Aspiring Songstress Meets Her Benefa...

Chapter 5  
  
  
"What am I supposed to wear?" Di lamented to Chris, digging through her closet.  
Chris, sitting on the bed with the white ball of Magnolia purring contentedly on his lap, shook his head. "I don't know. That."   
"This old thing?" She pulled out the aforementioned dress of siren red. "You sure?"  
"I like it."  
"But...I'm meeting Richard Duke, you know. And he's so powerful. Are you sure this screams 'I'm a budding young singer; sign me!'?"  
"Yes! It does! It's perfect! See? Maggie thinks so too."  
Di sighed. "Okay. I'll wear it."  
"Wear red lingerie too."  
"You're kidding."  
"No, I'm not." He smiled slyly and winked. "It'll bring you good luck and it'll give me good dreams." Di grinned back and did as he asked.   
  
Finally, Di, wearing the red dress and black Manolo Blahnik sandals, smelling of Gucci Rush, hair in a chignon and red lipstick still being applied, was ready. "How do I look?" She asked Chris.  
"Wonderful."  
"Sure?"  
"Positive. Good luck." He gave her a quick kiss and turned out the lights behind them. "I'll see you tomorrow."  
"I love you." She put her arms around him and he inhaled her perfume.   
"I love you too. Call me when you come back."  
"Okay."   
"Bye."   
  
Harold was waiting for her in her dressing room at Red's when she breezed in, out of breath. "Hi!" She chirped.   
"Hello. You look nice."  
"Thanks."  
"Does dinner at The Elephant sound good? We'll be meeting Mr. Duke, as you know."  
"Yes, I do."  
"Mr. Duke runs Roxanne Records, one of the most influential record companies in the area. I'd be thrilled if he signed you."   
"Wow. You set all this up for me?"  
"Of course. You're going to go places, Di."  
She was speechless, something quite rare for Di Casablanca. "I have the car waiting."  
"The...car?" Di gulped.   
"Yes, darling girl, the limousine. If you're going to be a star, you might as well make a grand entrance. Shall we go, Miss Di? We don't want to keep Duke waiting."  
  
Five minutes later, Di and Harold were in the back of a long, black stretch limo. "Wow." She breathed. "It's...nice."  
"Everything is going so well!" He beamed. "Winston, The Elephant please."  
"Yes, sir."   
Di sat back and tried not to stare out the windows like a hick. Despite her "celebrity status" in the clubs of Los Angeles, she'd never ridden in a limousine.   
"Where did you meet Chris Foster, Di?" Harold asked.  
"Oh, I met him at Red's. There was a mistake and he was sent up to my dressing room. He heard I sang and I heard he played guitar and wrote songs, and I guess things just clicked."   
"He seems like a nice boy."  
"He is."  
  
The limo pulled up at the entrance to The Elephant. The giant animal was alive with lights and when they entered, the familiar restaurant sounds of silverware clinking and people laughing. "You've been here before?"  
"Yes. I was just here two days ago, actually. With Chris." Di left out the fact that this was the site of their "first kiss."   
"Oh, Mr. Ziedfield!" The waitress, a pretty girl with red hair and a pierced nose, smiled brightly in welcome. "Mr. Duke is up in the Red Room waiting for you."  
"The Red Room?" Di's eyes lit up. The Red Room of the elephant was exclusive to those with the most money, the most power. She hadn't been inside it but she knew of its legendary status.   
"The Red Room," the waitress confirmed. "Follow me."  
Up the stairs (actually a leg of the elephant) and around a few corners brought Di and Harold up to the Red Room. The waitress, Sophia, knocked three times and said, "Mr. Duke, your guests are here."  
"Come in," the voice replied. Di had a strange sense of foreboding and she shivered slightly. Something in that voice was sinister. Throwing off all her caution, she forced herself to smile as they were ushered in.  
  
The man that sat there was approaching fifty, Di calculated. His hair was a fading sandy red-brown and his eyes were the same tepid, tawny color. Richard Duke's finely tailored suit hung limply on his thin figure and when he smiled, he revealed crooked, yellowing teeth. The cigar he'd been smoking lay smoldering in an ashtray and Di made a face; she didn't like smokers. Duke held a glass of whiskey in his hand and a bottle of the same alcohol sat nearby.   
"Hello, Harold." He said in his weasel-like voice. "This must be Miss Casablanca. Here's looking at you, kid." Richard Duke laughed sardonically at his joke and Di smiled out of politeness. How many times had she heard that?   
"Hello, Mr. Duke." She allowed him to kiss her hand and let him pull her chair out for her.   
"What would you like to drink?" Sophia asked.   
"Crème de menthe, please." Di ordered.   
"Interesting choice," Duke approved.  
"I will have a glass of Southern Comfort," Harold chuckled faintly. "And a slice of lemon."  
  
Richard was evaluating the pretty young thing right as she stepped in the door. Svelte figure, beautiful legs, expensive clothing, gorgeous face. All this and talent too? But would she pass his tests?  
He'd have to wait and see.   
"So," he said, taking a slow drag on his cigar. "You're interested in my company?"  
"I am," Di replied, trying to keep a strong voice and not choke on the smoke. "It sounds like a great place to be a part of."  
"Roxanne Records, named after my daughter, is in dire need of some talented young acts. With all the Britney and boy-band hubbub going on at the moment, the musical horizon seems to be in need of something fresh. And from what Harold has told me, you seem to be just that."  
Di was flattered. "Thank you very much."  
"My pleasure." To Di, Richard Duke's smile was like that of a snake. "Before we make any deals, I will have to hear you perform, obviously, to see if you're all you've been cracked up to be."  
"She is," Harold assured him, taking a long gulp of his Southern Comfort.   
"Oh, yes, of course." Di nodded. "I didn't expect to sign to anything tonight."  
"I've heard you've been working at the nightclub Red's. You are a waitress, I presume?"  
"Oh no," Di was taken aback. "I'm a DJ."  
"I see. I hope that you aren't too attached to that job, for when you start working with me, you'll have time for nothing else."  
Those words sent shivers down Di's spine. "You'll have time for nothing else...you'll have time for nothing else."  
"I'm willing to sacrifice." She said.  
  
  
Back at his apartment, Chris was fiddling with his guitar, trying to write. But all of his thoughts went back to Di, wondering how she was doing.   
"I can't fight the feeling   
that we're headed into something we won't be able to handle.  
I can't help thinking  
That our love is going to extinguish quickly like the flame of a candle." He scribbled.   
"And I don't know if we can fight the inevitable.  
I don't know if we can make it through the storm clouds that I see.  
But I'll hold tight to you...I'll hang on.  
Will you do the same for me?  
I can't handle the pain   
Of you leaving."  
  
A day later, Susanna Diamond Casablanca was signed to Roxanne Records. She flew to Chris's apartment, giddily happy. "I'm signed!" She squealed, flying through the door and into his waiting arms.   
"He signed you that fast?"  
"Yup."  
Chris grinned at the flushed, beaming Di who kissed him heartily. He swung her around, laughing uncontrollably.   
"I'm so happy!" She giggled, letting her red hair fly about her face wildly.   
"Has anyone ever told you that you are beautiful?" He asked, rubbing his nose against hers.  
"I'm afraid you aren't the first."  
"Narcissist," Chris accused.   
Di just giggled and kissed him again.   
"So when does our singing sensation make her first public appearance?"  
"Tomorrow," she said shyly. "I make my first publicity appearance tomorrow. You're coming."  
A crooked grin, "Not me. I'm just the geetar player." Chris laid down on the couch and rested his head in her lap.  
"You have to be there." Di flipped absentmindedly through the pages of Chris's lyrics notebook and ran her free hand through his hair. "Chris, when did you write this?" Her slim fingers traced his sloppy, inky handwriting and the lyrics of the song he'd written two nights before.  
"A few nights ago; when you were out with Richard Duke."  
"You aren't...thinking this way, are you?"  
Chris lied. "No, I'm not."  
"Okay," Di sighed, bending to kiss his forehead.   
  
The next day, wearing a black dress and a jean jacket embellished with turquoise, Di made her first public appearance as "Di Casablanca", future of music. With Richard Duke at her left and Chris on her right, Harold laughing and cavorting, Di managed to say a few words. "I'm so happy to be part of Roxanne Records and I hope that, with your help, I can become someone you look up to, someone whose songs really mean something."  
"Miss Casablanca!" Came the voice of an enthusiastic reporter from Cosmo! Girl magazine. "When's your first single coming out?"  
"Oh, not for a few weeks, maybe next month." Di gave her a gracious smile and scrawled her name on a piece of paper held out to her by a "fan." Chris wondered how she could have fans when they'd never heard her sing a note unless they'd heard her at Red's.   
"We're going to work hard on her debut," Richard added, smiling his smarmy smile and squeezing Di's hand. A pang of jealousy surged through Chris but he just grinned with the rest of them for a picture.   
  
The next few weeks were full of recording sessions, sound checks, publicity appearances, and late-night songwriting sessions between Chris and Di.   
Curled up on her green flowered couch, wearing her pajamas and drinking a glass of warm apple juice, Di sang along softly to Chris's quiet strumming.   
The sweetness of her voice was interrupted by Chris suddenly putting down his guitar.  
"What?" Di asked.  
"Come here."  
She obliged, sitting on his knee and putting her arms around his neck.   
"Did I tell you I love you today?"  
"No," she rubbed her nose against his. "You forgot. Now you owe me."  
"What do I owe you?"  
"Hmm..." She pondered for a moment, then smiled mysteriously. "Wouldn't you like to know?"  
He winked. "I bet I already do."  
"Hey, hey," Di scolded, pushing him away from her. "We have work to do."  
"You are going to be a star." Chris whispered before bringing his lips to hers.  
  
For a price.   
  
END OF CHAPTER FIVE 


	6. A Star is Born

Chapter Six: A Star is Born   
  
Dedicated to: Camie, Madi, Cel-Cel, Hannah, and Lyle the clay turtle. My Rougettes and Red Room Diamonds rock my socks! Also dedicated to Brown-Eyes and Gedia Kacela, two very sweet reviewers.   
  
Authoress's Note: Once again, nobody is reviewing. This makes me muy sad.   
  
  
The only noise was the quiet, soothing lapping of the crystal-blue water and the shrieking of the gulls overhead. The sun, a blazing ball of gold fire, beat down upon them, making their bodies glow a shimmering tan.   
Di rolled over on her side to gaze at Chris. Their three days in Hawaii had turned her skin a rich, golden brown and lightened the red of her hair, which only made her eyes glisten more.   
Chris was soaking up the rays, his own body a deep bronze, dozing. "Hey, sleepyhead," Di whispered into his ear. "Wake up."  
An unintelligible grumble escaped Chris's lips and his eyes opened lazily. "Huh?"  
"Duke's asleep."  
Immediately Chris was awake.   
"Let's escape." Di smiled in her mischievous way and reached for his warm hand, pulling him to his feet. She wrapped a gauzy sarong around her waist, checking to see if the pasty Richard Duke was still asleep on his towel. He was, as was Harold.   
The two lovers escaped from the frying lobster-red men and ran down the cool sand to somewhere where they could get away.  
  
Things had to be secret now. Rendezvous between Chris and Di were always in hidden corners, dark hallways, or in the sanctity of Chris's apartment. "It isn't fair," Di had protested.   
Harold had bound her to Richard Duke forever. The man had explained he did not like others touching his things and thrown a hissy fit at Harold when he refused to sign Di to him completely. "I...just...don't...like...other...people...touching...my THINGS!" Richard had screamed, holding out the document that would ruin Chris and Di. "You do know your career depends on this, Harold."  
Harold signed it.   
And now they were in Hawaii, under the watchful eye of both Harold and Rich Duke, celebrating the wrap of Di's first single. "We have to end it," Chris said the day they had arrived.   
"No!" Di replied furiously. "We are not going to end it for some smarmy rich guy who thinks he can control me totally!"  
"Di..."  
"Chris..."  
"Susanna..."  
"Shut up..." Di smiled through the small stream of tears flowing from her eyes. "Chris?"  
"Hmm?"  
"As long as we love each other, it'll be okay, right?"  
He squeezed her hand and the look in his eyes answered her question.   
  
"I have to dine with him tonight," Di said, sitting down on a sand-weathered rock and bringing her knees to her chest. "Should I insist my songwriter come with me?"  
"No."   
"Just in case the spirit moves me?"  
"No, Di," Chris shook his head. "We can't let him start to suspect something."  
She resigned, sighed deeply, and looked out at the waves. "I don't want to do this if we have to hide...let's forget Richard, let's forget this whole stardom thing. I'll be a waitress and you'll be a carpenter."  
"Susanna Diamond Casablanca, I do not want to hear you talking like that ever again," Chris said passionately. "You are not sacrificing anything for me. We can do this, we can keep it a secret."  
"I hate Harold," she spat. "I like him a lot but I hate him. I could see the dollar signs in his eyes as he told me what he had done."   
Chris put his arms around her and drew her close, letting her rest her head under his chin. "I'm sorry, Di."  
  
  
"I will erase my contract with you and Miss Casablanca if I am not going to get my required time with her," Duke stated coldly, eyes boring into Harold Ziedfield's.  
Harry fumbled for his words, returning the icy stare. "What do you want her for?"  
"You know just as well as I do, Harold. This is not a threat. This is fact. I will withdraw all of my funds for both you and Miss Di if I'm not allowed to have my way with my property. You know what a career you have built up. Do you want that destroyed?"  
"No." Harold swallowed hard, hating himself for what he'd gotten into.   
"Good. I expect Miss Casablanca at the Tower restaurant at eight. Don't forget, Harold."   
  
"Duke is expecting you at eight," Harold informed her when he entered her hotel room. Di's clothing was strewn about the place, jewelry scattered on the dresser, makeup all over the bathroom. Music was playing as loudly as she could play it without complaints, and the TV was on.   
"Eight?" She shrieked, running a brush through her hair. "Eight?! It's seven thirty!"   
Harold nodded. "Hurry up, chickpea."  
"Is this okay?" Di spun around to show him the black dress and long black gloves (formal events called for formal dress) that she wore. "Do I play the role of the ingénue?"   
"You look magnificent, sweetheart," Harry watched as she applied mascara to her lashes, applied lipstick, and dabbed a bit of citrusy perfume on her neck. "Now go!"  
As Di breezed out the door, Harold whispered, "Go to save us all."  
  
Chris's eyes were glued on the clock. It was ten after eight. Di was in the hands of Richard Duke now. He prayed she'd find a way to correct Harold's wrong.   
Chris tried to rest and let himself be intrigued by "The Sopranos", but he failed.  
The clock ticked right along with the quick beating of his heart.  
  
The food was good and the liquor flowed, but Di was anxious to leave the limpid eyes of Richard Duke and escape to Chris's waiting arms.   
"You're preoccupied with something else."   
"Oh, I'm sorry!" She apologized. "My head was in the clouds again. Hawaii seems to do that to me."  
"I have sent your single to several radio stations." Duke said, taking a slow swig of his chardonnay.   
"Really? Thank you!" Her smile was so bright and genuine it could have lit a thousand rooms.   
"I have a good feeling about you, Di. You'll go somewhere, especially with me to help."  
Those words made her shiver, but she smiled and nodded briskly. "Thank you for taking me here."  
"My pleasure, my dear." He signed his name on a check and handed it to the waitress, a pretty Polynesian girl with long, shiny hair and a plumeria tucked behind one ear.  
"It's like paradise."  
"Anywhere with you is paradise." Duke proclaimed in his oily voice. "Now, I have some business documents in my room that I'd like to discuss with you. Would tonight be okay?"  
"Oh God," Di thought, her heart dropping to the bottom of her stomach. Of course, putting on her cheery smile, she agreed. "Sure."  
  
She removed her gloves dramatically and placed them on the fireplace that Duke had in his suite. The rooms she and Chris occupied seemed like petty garrets compared to this palace of a hotel room. Di sat down in the offered chair and looked at the papers that were arranged in a neat stack, trying not to quiver in fear. Richard pulled his chair close to hers...too close.   
  
Richard could smell the intoxicating fruit of her perfume, nearly taste the wine on her lips. He put his arm about the back of her chair and leaned over her shoulder to look at the papers she peered over.   
Di was increasingly uncomfortable but she did not show it. "I see nothing wrong with these papers, Richard."  
"Good." He said, grinning. "Very good." And with one deft movement, he grabbed Di's arms and unzipped the back of her dress, tearing it away as if it were made of paper. She gave one strangled cry as he pressed his lips to hers, whispering, "Don't scream, my darling."   
Di brought her knee up in a desperate attempt to break free, slamming it into Duke's groin as hard as she could. He yelped, clutching the hurt area, and fell backwards. "You bitch! You goddamn bitch!" He screeched.   
With hot tears running down her face and ruining her perfect makeup, Di's shaking hands managed to zip up her dress and she ran.  
  
The door to Chris's hotel room sounded like it was being showered with bullets, so frantic was Di's knocking. Chris sprung up from the bed and ran to the door, revealing a red-eyed, pale-faced, sobbing Di with rumpled clothing and hair. "Di!"  
"Chris." She whispered between sobs. "He...tried...to..." More crying. "Rape...me."  
"That bastard! That lousy, fucking son of a bitch!" Chris swore, face red with anger. "I'm going over there!"  
"No, Chris." Di grabbed at his arms to hold him back. The touch of her cold fingers on his warm skin made him shiver and he pulled her close, grasping her so tightly it was hard for her to breathe.   
"Let's get on a plane and fly away from here." He whispered into her ear, his breath hot. "We'll forget Duke and Harold and we'll start anew, okay?"  
"No."   
"No? Are you crazy, Di? That bastard just tried to rape you! What are you talking about, No?"  
Chris's words made Di squirm uncomfortably and he felt terrible after they escaped his lips. He sat down beside her on the unmade bed and she curled into the solace of his arms. Chris kissed her hair, kissed her forehead, kissed away the tears, and then finally brought his lips to hers.   
She slept in his arms that night.  
  
  
They left Hawaii the next day. Richard acted as though nothing had happened between himself and Di the previous night, and she struggled to do the same. She kept Chris close to her at all times, lest Duke try something new. "Are you okay, Princess?" Harold asked, placing a tender hand on Di's shoulder.   
She fingered the necklace and averted her eyes from his. "Yeah, I'm okay." Her voice was barely above a whisper. Chris's fingers tightened around her hand, a gesture that made Di smile softly. When Harold turned around to read his magazine, Di whispered, "I love you" into Chris's ear and the plane took off, taking them back to Los Angeles.  
  
Nothing could have prepared them for the scene that followed their stepping off the plane. The flashing of cameras was blinding. "Miss Casablanca! Hey, Di!" Reporters called. "Did you know that your single has shot straight to number ten?"  
She blinked twice, registering the fact. Then, eyes lighting up just like those camera flashes, Di grinned and said, "I had no idea."  
"You're a celebrity, Miss Casablanca. Do you have anything to say to your fans?"  
"My...fans?" Di was still stunned. "I have fans?"  
"Of course you do." Chris whispered to her. "I'm right here, and look at all of them."  
The hordes of people, all screaming and crying and waving pieces of paper or copies of Di's single, with the picture of Di as Cleopatra, were all there just for her. "I love you all!" Di proclaimed into the microphone. "You don't know how much this means to me."  
"So when do we expect a full-length album from you?"  
"It's in the works," she said.  
"Miss Di's interview is over." Harold said, telling Chris to shield the new star from the public and the paparazzi. "Thank you for coming."  
  
In the safety of Duke's limousine, congratulations abounded. "This is unreal!" Di kept exclaiming.   
"It's wonderful!" Harold boomed, eyes sparkling with mirth.   
"You're wonderful." Both Chris and Richard said to Di. An awkward silence followed, then Di began to laugh.   
"Great minds think alike." She quipped. "Just think, two men with the same idea."  
Everyone laughed along with her and the moment was forgotten. "We'll get right to work on your record, Di." Richard informed.   
"Chris and I have recorded two tracks already," she replied. "With a producer friend."  
"Great." Duke smiled, displaying his crooked, rabbity teeth. "Congratulations to you both."   
  
In the weeks that followed, Di was shuttled from place to place, recording, doing demos, and making publicity appearances. The zenith of TRL, a place she didn't really want her videos to be because of the teenybopper appeal, was not far away.   
"You need to do a cover song." Chris mused.   
"I should." Di said, fiddling with the microphone. They were alone in the recording studio with Eldrin, who sat behind the glass wall. "How are ya, producer friend?"  
"Just great. You two are making wonderful progress, ya know."  
"We know."   
Di took another of the brownies that were sitting on the table, tempting her with their rich chocolaty goodness. "If I eat one more of these, I'll be the Ditanic."   
Chris laughed and took one himself.   
The door opened and in came Richard Duke. He smiled at Di and obstructed her view of Chris, who fiddled around on the piano. "I'm glad you've been working hard, dear."  
Di made a face at Chris over Duke's shoulder as he embraced her. Chris stifled his laughter and played a few stanzas of a Gershwin song.   
"Congratulations, Di darling," Duke said. "Your single has flown up the charts again to number two!"  
Di squealed and resisted the urge to run to Chris, throw her arms around him, and cover his face with kisses. Instead, she just whispered, "We did it" and tried not to cry.  
  
She'd have to save her tears for later.  
  
END OF CHAPTER SIX  
  
Another note: I don't know how much I really want to continue this. 


	7. To Save Him

Chapter Seven: To Save Him  
  
  
Di ran into Theo's apartment, clutching the newest edition of "People" magazine. "Looklooklook!" She nearly screamed, shoving the magazine at Chris, who lounged on his friend's couch. Di hurled herself into his lap and listened, blissful, as he read.   
  
"It's refreshing to see and hear something different. Di Casablanca, former DJ at the infamous L.A. nightclub, Red's, must know this, judging by her debut album. An eclectic mix of jazz, cabaret, pop, rock, and alternative music styles, this is a great debut from an artist we definitely want to hear more of.  
  
With her partner, pianist and guitarist Christian Foster, Di brings us thirteen interesting songs and one cover song-"Gorecki" by Lamb, which is hauntingly arranged. We can still feel her voice resonating in the eerie, unaccompanied song. "Rudolph Valentino Eyes" delivers the delightfully provocative line "to have you between my thighs" that never fails to make our mouths drop.   
  
Chris and Di bring some speculation, too. Are they a couple or aren't they? Two pictures on the CD jacket make us wonder, but both are keeping mum about it.  
Keep singing and making music, Di, and we'll keep listening."  
  
Di gave another squeal and placed her lips firmly on Chris's. "We did it." She whispered.   
"Oh, girl, you're a star!" Theo said, giving her a high five and spinning around like Michael Jackson.   
Chris lifted Di easily in his arms and held her up, grinning like a madman. "They liked it."   
"So does everyone else. I think they're buying it for the glitter picture." Theo kidded. "I mean, what guy wouldn't want to see you totally naked, covered in glitter?"  
"What did you pay me to do that, The?"   
"I recall someone ASKING me to take that picture."   
"Why did you put it in the CD jacket, then?"  
"I didn't. I also recall a young man named Christian Foster telling me to put it in."   
Di's cell phone rang and she dug in her purse to answer it. "Oh, hello Harold. Yes, I know! Isn't it great?" A broad smile lit her face as she talked. "You're kidding. They want a video? Oh. Okay. Sure." Turning to Chris and Theo, who were in the kitchen, she mouthed, "They want a video!"   
"What was that?" Theo called. "I can't hear you!"  
"They want a video!" Di hissed. "Okay, Harold. Talk to you later. Bye."  
  
Chris and Di lay on the couch, rereading the article, while Theo made dinner. "Whatcha making?" Di asked.  
"Filet mignon with a side of mint jelly and..."  
"C'mon, Theo."  
"Just kidding. What do you want?"  
"Whatever."  
"Okay. Mac n' Cheese it is. Come on you two lazy asses, help me."  
Chris got up and joined his friend in the kitchen. "Here's Emeril, ready to help."  
"Who'm I? The Naked Chef?" Theo joked, boiling the water.   
"You two really think Emeril and The Naked Chef make Mac n' Cheese?" Di asked, sitting on the counter and swinging her legs in their Frankie B. jeans.   
"Of course," Chris grinned, coming over to her. She leaned down to kiss him and they were lost to the world until Theo yelled, "THE WATER'S OVERFLOWING!"  
As Chris scrambled to take the boiling pot from the burner, Di and Theo fell into hysterics. "What can I do?" Di asked, jumping down from her counter perch.   
"Make some drinks."  
"Gotcha. Where's the blender?"  
"Blender?"  
"Yeah, the blender." Di turned on the radio and sang along to Diana Ross and the Supremes as she dumped frozen strawberries into the avocado colored blender. "Theo, how old is this? I'm getting 70's vibes."  
"I got it at a rummage sale."  
"Nice." Di added the Sprite and lemonade to her mix but quickly forgot the drink when Diana and the Supremes burst into "Stop! In the name of love."  
"Before you break my heart," Theo sang along with Di, doing a backup singer's dance. "Stop!" Both brought their hands out in a stop motion. "In the name of love."  
"Baby, baby, I'm aware of where you go, each time you leave my door..." Chris added, ignoring the macaroni that was simmering on the stove.   
The three finished the song and went back to their consecutive dinner jobs. Theo worked on atmosphere, lighting candles and draping a tablecloth over the table. "China or plastic plates?" He asked.  
"China! Our rising star cannot use anything else." Chris scoffed, grinning at both Di and Theo.   
  
"I commend you, Theodore, for this wonderful display of talent. And you, Christian, for your excellent macaroni skills." Di told both men to kneel before her. "I knight you Sir Theodore. Serve honorably and well. And I knight you, Christian Foster, also to the Order of the Diamond." She touched his shoulders with a broomstick as she had done with Theo. "Serve honorably and well."  
"I will, fair lady."  
"But not for long!" Theo challenged, pretending he held a sword in his hand. "I am going to steal your queen!"   
Di grinned and played along, bringing her hand to her mouth in mock fear. "No! Help me, Sir Christian!"  
"I will defend Lady Di until my dying day, Sir Theodore!"   
"A ha! She is mine!" Theo snatched Di's hand and pulled her to him.  
"Let's make a deal, Sir Theo. We fight a duel for Lady Diamond. Lady Di, hand me my weapon." Di grabbed the broom and handed it to Chris. Theo looked around for something and settled upon an old microphone. "Theo?" Di asked.  
"What?"  
"Why do you have a microphone laying around your house?"  
"I don't know. Prop?" He took a fake jab at Chris, who dodged back. The two men swashbuckled their way across Theo's apartment, making Di giddy with laughter and the liquor in the daiquiri she'd made.   
"I have won the fair maiden!" Chris shouted triumphantly. "You, Sir Theodore, shall now play the part of my horse. Giddy up, Theodore, take me to my fair queen." Galloping on his imaginary horse over to Di, Chris fell to his knees and grasped her hand. "I have saved you, Lady Di."  
"Indeed you have," Di smiled softly and placed a kiss on his forehead. "I thank you, Sir Christian."  
  
  
He watched her on that stage, singing her heart out, dancing and jumping into the audience, letting them carry her lithe body around. He watched the way she looked at that guitarist who smoldered right along with her. His eyes followed the flame that was Di, and three words ran through his head.  
"She is mine. She is mine."  
"Harold," he said coldly. "She is mine."  
Di's agent looked at the flame onstage and his heart sank. "I have to tell her to stop dallying with Chris," he thought. "Duke is outraged." Instead, he turned to Richard Duke and said, "You don't own her, Richard."  
"We had an agreement."  
"I want to break it. Di doesn't need you. She's successful on her own. You did nothing to make her rise to fame as quickly as she did."  
"Harold..." Duke's tone was warning. "You do remember what I said. I have the means to cut both you and Di out of the business forever."  
Harold's words were drowned out by the roaring of the fans.  
  
  
The euphoria of being onstage still running through her veins, still high on adrenaline, Di almost skipped back to her dressing room. She opened the door to find Harold sitting there, face grave.   
"You have to stop your romance with Chris." He said.  
If her heart could have fallen any more, it would have hit the core of the earth. "What?" Di whispered.  
"You heard me. You have to end it, strawberry. Duke is outraged. He knows."  
"He...knows?"  
Harold nodded. "If you don't, it's the end for all of us. You. Me. Chris. "  
"He can't do that."  
"He can. He's a powerful man, Di."   
"Harold..." Di's eyes clouded with tears and she sat down. "I can't."  
"Do it for Chris. Richard Duke doesn't like other people touching his things. And to him, you are his. He will do anything to get Chris out of the way. You love Chris, don't you, pet?"  
Di nodded, choking back the tears; a useless effort since they were going to fall anyway.   
"Then hurt him. Hurt him to save him."  
"I can't."  
"You have to. Or it's the end."  
"I don't care. I don't care about stardom. I don't care about any of this, Harry. I care about Chris. He's the only thing that matters to me."   
"He's going to be killed."   
Di dried her tears, looked once at Harold, and walked out the door.  
  
Chris was reading when she entered, holding her head high and trying desperately not to cry. "Chris." She said.  
"Come here," he held out his arms.  
"No." Di moved back. "Chris, it's over."  
"What? What are you talking about, Di?"  
"It's over. Us. We're over."   
"No." He whispered. "No."  
"I'm sorry."  
"Why?"  
"I choose Richard." And with that, she was gone, leaving him in a sobbing crumple on the floor.  
  
"I never thought I would have the strength to do this," Di thought, easing herself into a bathtub brimming with bubbles. Her eyes were scarlet with the tears she'd been crying all day, but she was relieved even though her heart was torn apart and broken. Chris was safe.   
But he wasn't hers anymore.  
  
END OF CHAPTER SEVEN  
  
A/N: Depressing, huh? 


	8. Watching Stars Without You

Chapter Eight: Watching Stars Without You  
  
  
  
He was there waiting for her the next morning when she unlocked the door to her studio. His eyes, like hers, were red and he looked unkempt. "Good morning, Chris." She said, disguising her tone and making herself sound cheerful.  
  
"Hi."  
  
"I'm sorry, Chris." Di said.  
  
"Don't lie."  
  
"But I really am! Chris…Richard…" Right as Di opened her mouth to speak Richard and Harold entered the room. Richard's observant eyes noticed right away the redness in both Di and Chris's eyes, as did Harold. Harold's heart sank. Di had done it. Good. Chris was safe.  
  
"Now, Di," Richard said, putting an arm about her waist. Di just smiled and turned to him, pretending she enjoyed his touch when inside she was feeling sick. "I came to tell you that I…well, Harold, booked you for Tuesday night on Leno."  
  
"Oh, okay." Nonchalantly Di flipped through a magazine.  
  
"And on Thursday," Harold added. "You're scheduled with Vogue."  
  
"Yes, I knew that."  
  
"Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?" Duke asked, smiling his reptilian smile and trying his best "bedroom eyes."  
  
"Mmm hmm."  
  
"Seven?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
Chris's heart was breaking even more as each word was said. Watching Duke's arm snake about Di's waist, watching him make those bug-eyes her way…shattered him. "Excuse me," he said softly, rising and leaving the room.  
  
If his heart could have come up his throat, it would have. Chris didn't know how long he vomited, but when he could heave no more, he stood weakly, splashed chilly water on his face, and went back to her.  
  
Di was alone, fiddling around on her laptop computer. "Oh, Chris…hi."  
  
"Let's get to work." Chris sat down at the piano and began to play a Gershwin song. Di's heart ached even more. "They can't take that away…" she whispered.  
  
"Our romance won't end on a sorrowful note," She sang along, forgetting that the song was recording.  
  
"Though by tomorrow you're gone." Chris sang back mournfully. "The song is ended, but as the songwriter wrote, the melody lingers on. They may take you from me; I'll miss your fond caress. But though he takes you from me, I'll still possess…" He didn't look her way.  
  
"The way you wear your hat, the way you sip your tea. The mem'ry of all that…No! They can't take that away from me!" Di listened to him, smiling dreamily. If she couldn't have Chris, she could still have memories.  
  
"The way your smile just beams, the way you sing off key," Di teased as she sang. "The way you haunt my dreams…No, no, he can't take that away from me!"  
  
"We may never, never meet again on the bumpy road to love," both sang in unison. "Still, I'll always, always keep the mem'ry of the way you hold your knife, the way we danced till three. The way you've changed my life…No, no! He can't take that away from me!"  
  
Chris turned his head away from Di's watery eyes, whispered, "Goodbye, Di" and walked out of her life.  
  
Di stood in a daze, watching him in the doorway until her legs gave out and she collapsed on the floor in a sobbing heap.  
  
  
  
Chris was barely moving from his bed of self-pity. He watched endless episodes of Maury and Sally, half-entertained by the screaming teen mothers and their babies' slacker fathers. He had thrown Di's pillow away; the pillow that smelled like her and still had the imprint of her head in it. In a rage, Chris had tossed it out the window.  
  
And now he hated himself for it. He wanted to die with that pillow clutched to him, the only thing in his apartment that had been hers. "I miss you," he whispered to the pigeon on the windowsill. "Not you, stupid bird."  
  
"Amelia Aarons, come on down!" Bob Barker proclaimed on the TV. A fat woman with heaving breasts that jiggled as she ran wheezed with delight.  
  
"Chris? Can I come in?" Theo's voice called through the doorway.  
  
"Yeah," he answered absentmindedly.  
  
Theo found his friend wearing a dirty Black Crowes shirt and a pair of boxers, staring blankly at the TV screen. He sat down, looking at the depressed young songwriter, and handed him a bottle of apple juice. "I know you don't like orange, so I brought this to cheer you up with."  
  
"She's gone."  
  
"I know she's gone, Chris. But she still loves you. Have you ever read the book 'Camille'?"  
  
Chris shook his head.  
  
"Well, in it, the woman leaves her lover to save him. Maybe Di did that."  
  
"No." Chris spat. "She did it for Richard Duke. She cares of his money, not for my safety."  
  
"She loves you, Chris. I know she loves you."  
  
"Shut up, Theo."  
  
"Why don't we go out for a drink?"  
  
"No."  
  
"C'mon."  
  
"No."  
  
"Get up. Turn off Bob and take a shower. You smell. We're going out for a drink. It's six thirty. Let's have a little fun."  
  
Chris sighed heavily and rolled off the bed, trudging (with a glare at Theo) to the shower.  
  
  
  
Di dressed mechanically in a dress of gray. Gray to show how she was feeling. She hated gray. Everything was gray; the sky was clouded with the depressing storm clouds hanging miserably over Los Angeles. The pavement was gray. Buildings were gray.  
  
Di was feeling very gray today.  
  
"Baz Lurhmann's Romeo + Juliet" flickered on her TV screen and Di watched out of the corner of her eye. Maybe she should take a potion and pretend she was dead.  
  
It started to rain. "How fitting," she mused. "I lost my best friend and the love of my life, I'm stuck having dinner with a rabbity idiot, and even if I am a celebrity, I hate myself."  
  
"Miss Casablanca," someone said from the other side of the door. "Your limousine is here."  
  
"Great."  
  
The clinking of the silverware and the annoyingly jazzy Muzak filled Di's ears as she stepped inside the ritzy restaurant. "Mr. Duke is waiting for you, Miss Casablanca. Right this way."  
  
Di followed the waiter to the table where Duke sat, that slimy smile on his face. She sat down in the offered chair, let him take her hand, and ordered a glass of white wine. And thought of Chris.  
  
Who, at this very moment, was in the bar of said restaurant, drinking Bacardi and watching Theo dance to Amiel's "Addicted to Bass." Drink after drink burned his innards, making him woozy and  
  
lightheaded. He could sense Di's presence. He knew she was here.  
  
On feet like a cat's, he went up the stairs to the main restaurant. There she sat with Duke, wearing a dress of gray that was as fragile as a butterfly's wing. Drunkenly he staggered to their table and tapped Di's shoulder. She spun around, a look of complete horror on her face. "Chris!" She hissed. "What are you doing here? Get out!"  
  
"Is that any way to treat your partner?" He slurred.  
  
"Excuse me, Chris, we are having a private dinner." Richard snarled.  
  
"Let's make it for three."  
  
"How many drinks have you had tonight?" Di asked.  
  
"Oh…fen."  
  
"Waiter!" Duke called. "Please have this man removed."  
  
Before Chris could move or protest, he found himself outside in the street. With the rain coming down in torrents and slushy mud covering the streets, he collapsed on his knees and cried, screaming her name to the homeless man in the corner and to the reflection of Di in the window. "Di!"  
  
Inside, nauseated by Duke, Di could almost feel the anguish.  
  
A/N: Something went wrong there with chapter eight so I re-did the ending…hmm… 


	9. Close Your Eyes

Chapter Nine:  
  
A/N: Chris and Di's fight is brought to you by Tylenol. And this chapter, in all its depressing glory, is dedicated to EVERYONE WHO REVIEWS AND EVERYONE WHO LOVES MOULIN ROUGE! I love ya'll, didn't ya know? (Thanks to Madi especially for the Tylenol thing and for the idea for the fight.)  
  
"We seem to be going through a stormy bout here in Los Angeles," the perky weatherman said as he looked at the map of computerized clouds. "Expect it to continue for a few more weeks, folks."  
  
The most fitting weather ever, Chris thought, flicking off the TV. He was going to meet with the people from The Star, that gaudy grocery store tabloid that was so intriguing to the eye.  
  
Revenge. This article could cause Di's downfall. "REAL Story on Di Casablanca-Guitarist Tells All." Chris could almost taste the headline. Of course, Di was no bitchy diva, and nothing he would say could make that true.  
  
He still loved her.  
  
The woman who met him at the door was dressed professionally and she smiled brightly. "Hi, Chris."  
  
"Hi."  
  
"Are you ready? We'll just come back here to my office and you can talk."  
  
"Sounds great."  
  
"So, Chris, tell me about Di." The woman sat back in a pink chair only a few shades darker than her suit, crossed her legs, and pushed a button on her recorder. "Go on," she prodded when he hesitated.  
  
"She was a heartless bitch. Always ordering everyone around. Obsessed with her own reflection. She'd sometimes stare at herself in the mirror for hours, making us all late for whatever rehearsal or concert we were doing." A series of lies jumped off his tongue, and then, suddenly, he said humbly, looking down at his Adidas Superstars, "I'm lying. I love her. She's a beautiful, wonderful person."  
  
"Then why did you come here?" The woman asked, face distorted in annoyance and frustration, but at the same time sympathy.  
  
"Because I wanted to get back at her. She broke my heart. We were in love…it was a wonderful world. And then…it was over." Chris was revealing his heart to this stranger, and it felt like a great weight had been lifted off his chest. "Don't write this story. Leave Di alone. You people write stories like this because you're jealous of someone prettier, better, more talented than you will ever be. I pity you."  
  
"Mr. Foster!" She called behind him. "You can't just walk out!"  
  
"I don't want any money. Leave Di alone."  
  
And then he left.  
  
He drove alone on the freeway in his Mustang, listening to the radio. "And here's the latest news about our Los Angeles sweetheart, Di Casablanca."  
  
Chris was intrigued and he turned up the volume. "It has been rumored that our local darling is seeing Roxanne Records owner Richard Duke. We don't know why she'd go for that weasel, but you never know anymore. For your listening pleasure, here she is."  
  
He changed the station as Di's vocals filled the air.  
  
  
  
They were doing a sound check when Di came over to Chris, who was tinkering with the piano.  
  
"What's up?" He asked coolly.  
  
"Do you want to have lunch with me?"  
  
"Can we talk, Di?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Alone?"  
  
"Okay." She followed him into the bathroom and perched on the counter.  
  
"No, I don't. I don't get it, Di. You say it's over but you lead me on. Do you still love me? Tell me the truth."  
  
"Tell the truth, tell the truth," her conscience screamed. But Di said simply, "No."  
  
"Then why are you asking? We're over. So let me play guitar. That was what I was hired to do. I'm not your boyfriend anymore. I'm just your guitarist."  
  
"Chris!"  
  
"STOP IT!" He roared. "Leave me alone! I don't want you anymore, you heartless bitch!"  
  
That stung like a thousand beestings. "What?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.  
  
"I mean exactly what I said. You used me."  
  
"Oh? I used you? What was this for, then? Why did you fall in love with me? Why did you make me fall in love with you?" She ripped the gold necklace with the little heart-shaped locket off and threw it at him. "I don't want this. You bought it for me. You keep it." After stepping on the locket with her heel, she glared right into his eyes.  
  
"I made you fall in love with me?"  
  
"Yes! With your silly love songs!"  
  
"My silly love songs?"  
  
"Yes! Goodbye, Chris," Di said, breezing out the door.  
  
"Good riddance," Chris said before the door closed on their love forever.  
  
"I'm going home." She told everyone. "I'm not feeling well."  
  
What a blatant lie.  
  
  
  
On her couch, Maggie on her lap, watching Gone With the Wind and reciting the dialogue along with Vivien Leigh, tissues covering the floor in some sort of snow, Di wallowed in her misery.  
  
Melanie was dying and Scarlett was crying and Rhett was leaving…what a mess the poor Southern beauty was in.  
  
Almost as awful as her own mess. Di's hand flew to her throat to fiddle with the locket but she found nothing there. In a panic, thinking she'd lost it, she searched the couch cushions. But then she remembered, and the awful truth hit her like a knife. She'd thrown it at Chris, thrown it away as she had done with their relationship.  
  
Another thorn in her side.  
  
Harold entered her apartment with his key and saw his little strawberry fast asleep, buried in blankets on her couch. Stacks of DVDs like "Cabaret" and "Pretty Woman" and "Bridget Jones' Diary" were scattered on the coffee table along with thousands of Kleenexes. Di's closed eyes were puffy and she looked just like a sorrowful little girl.  
  
"Poor thing," he whispered, gently sitting down beside her. "Di?"  
  
"Mmm?" She moaned in her sleep, slowly opening her eyes. "Oh, hi, Harry."  
  
"Are you sick?"  
  
"Heartsick," she confessed, sitting up and cradling her cat.  
  
"Chris?"  
  
Di nodded and blew her nose. "Be had a fight and be hates be."  
  
"What?"  
  
"We had a fight and he hates me." She translated, dabbing at her swollen, scarlet-tinged eyes.  
  
"I'm sorry, chicklet."  
  
"It's not your fault, Harry. In part, you saved him."  
  
"You're a courageous woman, Susanna Diamond Casablanca."  
  
"Harold…" she warned. "Remember what I told you?"  
  
"Oh yes. Slipped my mind," he chuckled a bit and rubbed her hand sympathetically. "What are you watching?"  
  
"Days of Our Lives," Di answered. "I can't believe this show is still on. It's terrible."  
  
"I used to watch soap operas."  
  
"You're kidding me."  
  
"No. I was actually rather partial to The Young and the Restless."  
  
Di smiled weakly and settled back on the couch to watch the rest of the soap opera with her agent. She really did appreciate Harry. He cared.  
  
Seeing her in this state took a toll on Harold. With her eyes red and wearing her grungiest pajamas, surrounded by blankets and tissues and that white hairball she called her baby, Di must have been very depressed. He made her popcorn and they watched "Cabaret" together, each consoled by the other's presence.  
  
"I miss him," Di sniffled.  
  
"I know you do, darling girl. You just wait. Things will be all right in the end. I have a meeting I have to go to now, but take care of yourself. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"  
  
"Thank you, Harry."  
  
"What was I supposed to do? Leave my Diamond all by herself?" He beamed and tousled her hair as a father would, kissed her cheek, and left.  
  
Only twenty minutes after he'd left, there was another knock on the door. Theo stood there, a bouquet of daisies in his hands, smiling crookedly at her. "I heard you were sick," he said, entering her apartment.  
  
"I'm not sick."  
  
"You miss Chris."  
  
"Of course I do, Theo!"  
  
"Why did you do it?"  
  
"I…I don't want to talk about it."  
  
"Well, I brought you some juice and some chocolates, anyway. You look awful."  
  
"Thanks for noticing." She quipped. "What's that?"  
  
"Oh! I almost forgot. I bought you a book."  
  
"You didn't have to do that, Theo."  
  
"I did. Here." He handed her the badly wrapped gift and smiled sheepishly. "I can't wrap gifts."  
  
"I can see that," Di said, opening the package. Inside was a beautifully bound, light-blue leather covered book with "Camille" embossed in gilt letters on the cover. "Oh, Theo, it's beautiful," she breathed, running her fingers over the shimmering letters.  
  
"Have you read it?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Marguerite is very much like you. She falls in love and then has to sacrifice for the man she loves."  
  
"Thank you so much." Di held the book to her chest, wondering why she deserved such wonderful friends.  
  
Two hours later, she had finished the book. Marguerite had died without Armand by her side. Although the tears were flowing down her face, Di felt a sense of solace in the words of Alexandre Dumas the second.  
  
She did something she hadn't done in days. She picked up her pen and began to write.  
  
"I still remember every vivid feeling  
  
underneath the stars that night.  
  
Just you, just me, the ocean.  
  
Nowhere else I'd rather be.  
  
I can close my eyes  
  
Envision being there  
  
Completely content just to hear you  
  
Breathe.  
  
I still love you.  
  
I still miss you.  
  
I still want you here with me.  
  
But you're gone and I'm helpless  
  
Without you.  
  
The stars saw everything  
  
They saw fire and oil collide when we touched  
  
And they saw the pain reflected in both our eyes  
  
At the end.  
  
They saw fame and they saw glory  
  
They saw love, they saw deceit.  
  
The stars observed  
  
Our lives.  
  
I still love you.  
  
I still miss you.  
  
I still want you here with me.  
  
But you're gone and I'm helpless  
  
Without you."  
  
Her phone rang. Di ignored it for the first three rings, and then dashed to get it. "Hello?"  
  
"Hi, Di." Harold's jovial voice boomed through the lines. "I have wonderful news."  
  
"Shoot."  
  
"They want you to sing at the Grammy's!"  
  
"You're kidding me, Harold."  
  
"I'm dead serious."  
  
"Oh my God!" She shrieked. "Oh my God, oh my God!" The phone dropped from her hands and she fell to her knees. "I'm sorry about that Harold. I got a little excited."  
  
"You had a reason to."  
  
"This is…unreal."  
  
"You are a certified star, you know."  
  
"But…to sing at the Grammy Awards…"  
  
"It's excellent."  
  
Things were definitely looking up.  
  
A/N: Whoo, two chapters in two days! I'm on a roll! 


	10. Misty Water Colored Memories

Chapter 10  
  
A/N: Mostly memories between Di and Chris. Dedicated to my lovely Mr. Leg for all of his help. (In case you are wondering, Mr. Leg is a Ken Doll's leg.)  
  
"Di! Can you sign this for Darren, please?…Di, do you miss Chris?…Di, aren't you singing at the Grammy's?…You're my idol!"  
  
Always this stream of fans flocking to her. At first, it had been fun. But now they had a habit of showing up when she wanted them least. Di did not want to sign another autograph for the rest of her life. And they never gave up, either. Always hounding on her, bringing up things she didn't want to talk about…It was a love/hate relationship between Di Casablanca and her fans.  
  
"Harold," she muttered under her breath, "please."  
  
"Miss Casablanca does not want to talk today," Harold proclaimed. "Thank you for coming. Please, step away."  
  
The group of adorers groaned in disappointment as Di, wearing huge sunglasses and a gigantically brimmed hat, disappeared into the building.  
  
~*~  
  
"Chris! Slow down!" She squealed, the wind blowing through her tangled hair and the sea spraying out behind them. Sunshine beat cheerfully upon their tanned, freckled bodies and only added to the dreamlike state of weather. The boat cut swiftly through the water, egged on by the heavy, sweet-salty sea breeze. Chris laughed and stood on the driver's chair, letting the breeze tousle his hair and making water fly into the boat.  
  
"Get down! Get down!" Di laughed, tugging him down with one hand, the other on the steering wheel.  
  
"I'm king of the world!" He whooped into the sky. Di finally yanked him down upon her lap and he pressed his salty lips to hers.  
  
"You belong to the sky, the sun, and ocean." She whispered into his ear, enjoying the feeling of his warm skin against hers. "Not to me."  
  
"And you to the moon and stars."  
  
"We sound like poets tripping on acid."  
  
"On love!" Chris shouted, sending them both into peals of hysterical laughter at everything and nothing at all.  
  
How happy things had been, Chris thought as the memory faded. His arms ached to hold her again. His eyes longed to see her. Every part of him missed Di in some way. Now he was nothing but a songwriter, trying to sell songs to those who needed more than dreams. He'd quit as her lead guitarist. It was too hard to stay with nothing but memories and heartbreak.  
  
He saw her on MTV. He saw her on Entertainment Tonight. He heard her on the radio, read about her in the magazines. Di was everywhere.  
  
Except where she should be.  
  
With him.  
  
Her new guitarist, a nineteen-year-old boy with big dreams and even bigger eyes, tried hard to fill Chris's place. There was something, Di noticed, that was not right. They had no chemistry.  
  
None of her songs sounded right. She couldn't sing them correctly, either. Oh, why had she been so stupid?  
  
Richard Duke, however, was glowing with the steady stream of revenue Di was bringing in and with his sudden attention from the beautiful starlet. Late- night dinners at the finest restaurants, just the two of them. But Di's eyes were always glazed over with something more than memories, something more than tears.  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
The smell of hot, buttered popcorn mingled with sticky-sweet cotton candy and cigarette smoke wafted to them as they strolled hand in hand through the Los Angeles carnival. The menagerie of people, ranging from infants to the very old, rich to the very poor, immigrants to carnival vagabonds, surrounded them, but to Chris and Di, they were alone in the world. Di had gotten off early from Red's, despite it being raver mantra night (Peace, Love, Unity, Respect). And here they were, completely happy just being together.  
  
"This is pretty," Chris fingered a silver bracelet being sold by a gypsy- looking woman. "How much?"  
  
"Twenty dollar." She answered in reluctant English.  
  
"Twenty? That's it?"  
  
The woman nodded, eager to make a sale.  
  
"It's real, right?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I'll take it. And the music note charm, the heart-shaped charm, and the unicorn charm."  
  
"Chris!" Di protested. "You don't have to buy me anything!"  
  
"Who said it was for you?" Di's eyes grew wide. "I'm just kidding, Diamond."  
  
The woman handed Chris the bracelet and waved them off, saying, "You keep that girl. She's a treasure. You hear me, boy?"  
  
"I guess she does speak English."  
  
Di ate a stick of pink cotton candy and Chris consumed two hot dogs during their trip around the carnival grounds. "Let's go in here," Di said, gesturing to the fun house. "C'mon."  
  
Through the mirrors that distorted their figures and made them giggle like little kids, across the shaking boards that were reminiscent of "Grease," and down the slides they traveled, reveling in the childhood memories it evoked for both of them.  
  
"The Tunnel of Love…" Chris said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.  
  
"There's a line. How about the haunted house?"  
  
"No!"  
  
"You scared?" Di teased.  
  
"I am! Look at it!"  
  
"I'll hold your hand."  
  
"I'm going to scream."  
  
"That's okay."  
  
"Let's go in." They hopped into the little cart and were shot off into the dark passageway. Just like a frightened little boy, Chris grasped Di's hand; she just laughed. When they felt hands on their arms, Chris jumped right into Di's arms but did not scream.  
  
When they had finished that awful experience, Chris proclaimed, "It's my turn. We're going in the Tunnel of Love. Nothing scary in there."  
  
"Except for that guy," Di giggled, pointing to a huge man with a bald head and jeans that were dangerously low. "How's he going to fit his wife in there with him?"  
  
"They'll get into two boats and hold hands."  
  
"That's mean."  
  
"You started it. Come on, fair maiden." In a knightly motion, Chris swept Di into his arms and placed her in their boat. And off they floated.  
  
"Chris!" Di squealed as they passed a booth. "Will you win me a big teddy bear? I've always wanted one…"  
  
"No way! It's just a scam," he scoffed.  
  
"Pwease?" A sad puppy face weakened his determination and Chris gave in.  
  
"Okay."  
  
Like an excited schoolgirl, Di jumped up and down when Chris shot down all four swimming, wooden ducks and the gigantic, half-her-size, hot pink teddy bear was placed into her arms. "His name is…" She pondered a moment.  
  
"Herman."  
  
"Sounds great."  
  
"A Tilt-a-Whirl! No way!" Chris exclaimed. "Let's take Herman on his first Tilt-a-Whirl ride!"  
  
"I love Tilt-a-Whirls!" Di grabbed Chris's hand and they sat in the huge strawberry. Around and around, lightning-fast they swung, yelling and laughing the whole time. The ride reminded Chris of his first night at Red's, the flash of colors and music and laugher…  
  
"Okay, maybe this wasn't such a good idea after that ice cream," he decided when they were done, swaying as he walked. "I feel dizzy."  
  
"Me too. Let's go on the Ferris Wheel."  
  
On top of what seemed to be the world, they twirled slowly around above the lit-up Los Angeles. It was dark now, and the moonlight, the starlight, and the fluorescent lights of the Ferris Wheel were sending Di into some sort of love-happy ecstasy-like trip. With Chris at her side, the taste of cotton candy lingering in her mouth, and her heart bursting, life could not have been better.  
  
They were at the very top when Chris whispered into her ear, "It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside. I'm not one of those who can easily hide." He took her hand and continued, "I don't have much money, but boy, if I did, I'd buy a big house where we both could live."  
  
"You're crazy, sugar," Di laughed.  
  
"I know it's not much, but it's the best I can do; my gift is my song and this one's for you!"  
  
In a bout of temporary insanity, Chris stood up on the Ferris Wheel's little box and burst out, "You can tell everybody that this is your song. It may be quite simple now that it's done. I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind that I put down in words how wonderful life is now you're in the world!"  
  
"Chris! You're going to fall! Be careful!" Di grabbed his hand to try and pull him back to reality, but no such luck.  
  
"So excuse me forgetting, but these things I do," he rang out in his magnificent tenor. "You see, I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue! And, well, the thing is, what I really mean, yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen!"  
  
He took her hand and made her stand, still singing. His eyes sparkled more than the stars above them and Di couldn't help but fall even more in love with him.  
  
Still singing, still on top of the Ferris Wheel underneath those intoxicating stars, lost in the depths of Di's midnight-blue eyes, Chris finished. "You can tell everybody that this is your song! It may be quite simple now that it's done. I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind, that I put down in words…"  
  
"How wonderful life is now you're in the world." Di added softly, sitting him down beside her and pulling him into a kiss.  
  
And the fireworks burst in the sky, yet not as large and colorful as the fireworks in both of their hearts.  
  
~*~  
  
"Di? Di?" Duke's voice brought her back to harsh reality. She was no longer at the carnival with Chris. She was at yet another restaurant with Richard Duke. Di couldn't help but feel guilty for leading him on this way and letting him buy her expensive dinners, but there was nothing she could do. She had to satisfy this terrible man for her career. It was, however, getting very monotonous and frustrating.  
  
Now that her star had taken off, Di was sure that Arista would take her. Or Sony. Virgin Records, maybe. She could break off all ties with Richard and Roxanne Records, start anew with Chris…  
  
That was impossible.  
  
But she went to Harold with it the next day. "No, chickpea. It won't work. Duke owns the rights to your name, to your songs…"  
  
"But Harold…oh, Harold, how I miss Chris. I don't care anymore! I'll sacrifice my career!" She broke down and sobbed, let free the tears she'd been holding back for days and days.  
  
"The show must go on, darling. The show must go on."  
  
~*~  
  
Yet another memory was racking his brain. Chris couldn't forget her! It was driving him crazy.  
  
"A karaoke bar! What fortune we have stumbled upon, my lord." Said Lady Di, a vision in a white, off-the-shoulder peasant blouse, jeans, and rhinestone- encrusted Adidas Superstars she'd just bought. "Shall we go in and show them what we've got?"  
  
"Why, of course, Lady Di," answered Sir Christian. "We'll knock them off their feet, as we always do."  
  
After enduring a giggling, nasal-voiced woman singing "I Will Always Love You" and a drunken biker warbling, "Stairway to Heaven," Chris and Di were up. Looking through the offered songs, one caught Di's eye. "Come What May…" she said. "Let's do this one."  
  
"Wasn't this from that movie with Nicole Kidman?"  
  
"I think so."  
  
Chris took the mike first, reading the lyrics as they scrolled across the screen. "Never knew I could feel like this, like I've never seen the sky before. Want to vanish inside your kiss, every day I love you more and more. Listen to my heart, can you hear it sing, telling me to give you everything? Seasons may change, winter to spring, but I love you until the end of time."  
  
She stood aside, smiling softly and staring into his eyes as he sang to her.  
  
"Come what may, come what may. I will love you until my dying day!"  
  
With the rapt attention of their "audience" now consisting of some college kids, the biker and the nose-woman, the bartender, some truckers, and some floozy-looking women, Di stepped up to Chris's side and sang her verse.  
  
"Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place  
  
suddenly moves with such a perfect grace.  
  
Suddenly my life doesn't seem such a waste,  
  
It all revolves around you."  
  
Chris's tenor melded with Di's shimmering alto as they continued, all eyes on them. "There's no mountain too high, no river too wide. Sing out this song and I'll be there by your side. Storm clouds may gather and stars may collide, but I love you until the end of time."  
  
After they'd finished, breathless and giddy, Lady Di and Sir Christian took deep, dramatic bows at the demand of the crowd.  
  
And then they kissed…  
  
Yet another memory saved forever in his mind.  
  
~*~  
  
"I'm Joan Rivers at the 2002 Grammy Awards! After U2's big sweep last year, this year, who knows what will happen? Here is our Best New Artist and Best Female Artist nominee, Di Casablanca. Who are you wearing, Di?"  
  
Di smiled at the camera and twirled about to show off her dress. It was white, strapless, with decorative silver designs on the bodice and at the bottom of the skirt. A breathtaking diamond necklace hung from her swanlike neck. Drop diamond earrings decorated her ears and a thin strand of diamonds was weaved into her hair. She felt beautiful and she looked it, too. "I'm wearing a custom-made Versace, Joan."  
  
"You look beautiful, darling. Who is this that you've brought with?"  
  
Richard Duke hung possessively on her arm and he gave that disgustingly rabbity grin at the camera. Di tried not to notice the expression on Joan's face and laughed inwardly. "This is Richard Duke, my label owner," she explained.  
  
"Hello, Richie. You're performing tonight, aren't you, Di?"  
  
"Yes, I am."  
  
"Good luck to you tonight, Di. Thanks for stopping by."  
  
She was starstruck. Even after almost a year of her celebrity lifestyle, this was amazing. She floated past Elton John, Madonna, Bono from U2, even Paul McCartney. Each said hello to her and wished her good luck. Di felt as though she must have looked like a dumb little child for her mouth froze and she couldn't say anything back but incoherent mumbling.  
  
"Are you nervous?" Asked someone who looked very much like Ozzy Osbourne, shaking Di's hand warmly. "Di, love, are you nervous?" He repeated.  
  
"I…I am."  
  
"Good luck, love."  
  
"Tha…thank you," Di stammered, accepting the hug he offered.  
  
The lights dimmed in the auditorium and everyone was silent for a minute. All eyes were on the stage. Nobody noticed as Chris, wearing a white jacket and black pants thrown together at last minute, slid inside and sat several rows from the back.  
  
"It's going to be quite a night tonight," stated the returning host, Jon Stewart.  
  
No-one expected what kind of night it was going to be.  
  
  
  
  
  
END OF CHAPTER 10  
  
A/N: Wow! 89 reviews and counting! This is the most I've ever had! Thank you all! You know I love you! (I ended every sentence with an exclamation, I'm so happy.)  
  
Songs Used:  
  
"Your Song" by Elton John (No kidding?)  
  
"Come What May" by David Baerwald  
  
All celebrities mentioned in this chapter are copyright themselves. 


	11. The Curtain Rises

Chapter 11: The Curtain Rises  
  
A/N: Second-to-last chapter. Dedicated to Madi, she knows why.  
  
  
  
They finished the boring awards first, categories Di didn't care about. A steady stream of glittering dresses and tearful speeches…that was all it was. She was already shaking to beat the band and her number wasn't until a few hours later in the show, but this was frightening the hell out of her.  
  
  
  
He sat in the shadows, eyes glued to the white-clad Di. She got up to leave to prepare for her song and his eyes trailed her, heart aching. Di looked so beautiful, so radiant, so glowing with sheer happiness. And Duke was on her arm, not him. Duke sat beside her, held her hand. My spot, thought Chris bitterly. That ugly bastard is sitting in my spot, holding the hand I should be holding…  
  
They presented more awards but he wasn't paying attention. Chris's eyes were on Duke now. Smugly sitting beside Di's vacated seat, he crossed his arms and surveyed the crowd. Chris ducked a bit to avoid being recognized. Duke's seawater eyes swept right past him.  
  
"Our very own sparkling diamond is here tonight to perform for all of you," said John Stewart, a sadistic smile on his face. He made a joke…a not-so- funny joke Chris didn't listen to.  
  
A smattering of laughter. And then the music started. Everything was black until a blue light shone on the silhouette of Di. She launched into "My Cocaine" as was expected.  
  
"You're my cocaine, you're my addiction…" she sang, still wearing the white gown that was so breathtakingly beautiful. "My obsession, my transfixion." Like a woman with twirling ribbons, she pirouetted across the stage.  
  
Di was onstage, doing what she loved best, singing her heart out, completely happy and completely confident. Singing to millions of people was almost orgasmic. With a blissful expression on her face, she sang out strongly, a slave to the music. But then, underneath the hot lights, she saw something.  
  
Chris.  
  
He sat in the back of the auditorium, eyes fixed on her. His expression was stony and it sent Di's heart plunging. She stood completely still and did not speak or sing a word. Her band quit playing and the auditorium was in utter silence, every pair of eyes on Di.  
  
Oh, God. She had seen him. Chris's heart skipped a thousand beats. He brought himself to his feet and stumbled across the knees of the people beside him. Slowly, willing his feet to move, he walked up the aisle, his back to Di.  
  
And then she opened her mouth and began to sing, very softly.  
  
"I still remember every vivid feeling  
  
underneath the stars that night."  
  
What was she doing? The crowd began to murmur and they turned around to see who she was staring so intensely at, who was making her eyes water up like this.  
  
"That damned guitarist!" Richard Duke swore, clenching his fists. "What in the hell is she doing?"  
  
Chills went up and down Chris's spine and he turned slowly to face her. "Just you, just me, the ocean. Nowhere else I'd rather be right now," she sang, midnight blue eyes welling with glittering tears. He could feel the pressure of a thousand eyes on him while she sang.  
  
"I still love you.  
  
I still miss you.  
  
I still want you here with me.  
  
Come what may…"  
  
Now they were watching him to see his reaction. "Come what may…" Di whispered again, sending his already pounding heart into overdrive.  
  
"Come what may," he replied in a hesitant voice quieter than her whisper. "Come what may. Come what may! I will love you…"  
  
And then he was running down the aisle up to the stage. She held out her hands and she grabbed him tightly, tears streaming down her face. But she was smiling, a smile brighter than the glint of the trophies. "I love you…"  
  
"Until my dying day!" Rang out Chris's magnificent tenor voice, sending the audience into an appreciative tremor.  
  
Both of them trembling like leaves on a windy day, they embraced and the applause was deafening. And then they kissed, further generating the ecstasy of the crowd.  
  
"Never knew I could feel like this…" They sang as the cameras rolled and everyone "oohed" and "ahhed" in appreciation.  
  
Everyone but Duke. His face was red and he shook violently, watching HIS Di up there with that guitar player, kissing him and singing to him and smiling brightly at the audience. They were doing this all on live TV, humiliating him in front of the world.  
  
He couldn't watch this anymore. It had all been a cruel joke. She didn't love him; she never had.  
  
He didn't like other people touching his things. And, in writing, Di was his.  
  
Richard Duke had a plan.  
  
This feeling rushing through her was better than anything; better than chocolate, better than kisses, better than moonlit walks on the beach with the one you love. This was true, unadulterated bliss. With Chris's arms around her and her heart in the joyous clouds of rekindled love, Di could barely sing with her happiness. "One day I'll fly away…"  
  
He was feeling exactly the same way. "My gift is my song!" Chris sang, giddier than Gene Kelly in Singin' in the Rain. Giddier than a child on Christmas day and giddier than any Ecstasy could inspire. But something was not right. He could feel it, something very, very wrong and very foreboding.  
  
Duke.  
  
He was heading up the aisle, a shimmering black weapon in hand. Instinctively, Chris threw Di aside and she flew backward. "SHE IS MINE!" Duke was screaming. "SHE IS MINE!"  
  
Nobody did anything. It was as if the audience was too captivated, too frightened to move a muscle. "Someone do something!" Di screamed, her color quickly draining from her already pale face. The red streaks of tears stood out like a handprint from a brutal slap.  
  
And then it happened. One loud, piercing shot shattered the silence of the auditorium and the bullet was released.  
  
Right into Chris's heart.  
  
Duke was an excellent shot.  
  
"YOU KILLED HIM!" Di screamed again through her already streaming tears. "YOU SHOT HIM!"  
  
An evil smirk was on Duke's satisfied face. He still held the gun, but was now pointing it to her. "Where is the security in this place?" Asked a bewildered member of the audience, too startled to move.  
  
"Chris! Oh my God, Chris!" She threw herself to her knees beside his body and grabbed his hand, gently touching his face with the other.  
  
"Di…" It was already happening. His blood was beginning to slow down and seep out of the wound.  
  
"CALL AN AMBULANCE, SOMEBODY!" Di sobbed. "TURN OFF THE DAMN CAMERA!"  
  
Nobody did anything.  
  
"Please," she scream-sobbed in desperation. "He's dying. Chris, don't give up. I love you so much. You've got to try. No. Don't close your eyes!" She kissed him furiously as though to breathe her own life into him.  
  
Slowly, blackness was reaching for him. "I…" He breathed, Di's face before him starting to fade with his vision. "I love you." Oh, it hurt so much. The steady ache in his heart was too much to bear. "Di…"  
  
"No!" She sobbed, drenched in her tears and his blood. "Chris!"  
  
But he was dead, the warmth already fleeing his body.  
  
For a fleeting moment she sat beside his body, sobbing and kissing him furiously. A stream of incoherent murmurings flew from her lips to his unhearing ears. "I love you I love you I love you." She was whispering. "Wait for me, Chris." And then, with a new courage in her, Di stood.  
  
"YOU DID THIS!" She turned a vengeful gaze on Duke. "Why?" Not caring enough to wipe the tears away, Di ran down the stairs, blinded by her sadness. Chris was dead. It had left her completely numb.  
  
"She is mine." Duke repeated, pointing the gun at her. His eyes were glazed over with that craziness that seems to go through everyone when they murder. Were the cameras rolling? Nobody knew. Everyone was completely riveted to the tragedy unfolding before them.  
  
"Yes!" She proclaimed, staring him down with icy eyes. "Shoot me too. I don't want to go on…go on anymore." A slow, shaky breath wracked her fragile, tear-weakened body. "Without him…Shoot me too, Richard. Make it painful."  
  
He did nothing. "SHOOT ME, DAMMIT! Kill me, Richard. You've already killed my heart. Let the rest of me go with it."  
  
By this time, the police were there, running down the long aisle to get to the crazed murderer. But it was too late. He'd pulled the trigger. Di willed it to smash into her body and make her die. She wanted to die. There was nothing, nothing remotely important in her life, without Chris. Her gallant knight was dead. She would join him too. They'd be together.  
  
It hit right underneath her heart but Di was immune to the pain. She fell to her knees with the impact, but somehow got up and dragged herself to Chris's body. Although already she was feeling hazy and a strange sensation was crawling up her spine, Di remained strong. She collapsed, gasping for breath. The paramedics flew to her side, but she pushed them away. "No!" She screamed. "I want to die! Oh, God, let me die!"  
  
They were talking to her, encouraging her to let them take her, but she fought. "No! He's dead! I don't care anymore. I…I want to die. KILL ME. God, just strike me down dead…" she managed to say with her unsteady breath. "I…want to die." A violent bout of shuddering struck Di's body. She convulsed wildly on the cold floor beside the blood and tearstained body of her Sir Christian, grasping his hand.  
  
"I love you…" She whispered before giving up completely to the blackness of death. "Until…the…end…of…time."  
  
"Please, stop the cameras," someone said. "You can't broadcast this."  
  
And just as they had been in life, the lovers were reunited in death.  
  
END OF CHAPTER ELEVEN 


	12. The Curtain Falls

Chapter 12: The Curtain Falls  
  
The world looked on in stunned silence. There were no words to describe the anguish everyone was feeling as the bodies were carried out of the theater wrapped in the cold white shrouds of death.  
  
"They say that all stars fall," said a grave Kurt Loder of MTV. "But tonight, the most unexpected star crashed down. Di Casablanca, a young woman with ambitious drive and a remarkable talent, was killed tonight at the Grammy Awards in Los Angeles, California along with her former guitarist and boyfriend, Christian Foster.  
  
Di, former DJ at the L.A. nightclub Red's, had a full and promising career ahead of her when Richard Duke, her record label owner and a man obsessed by her, killed both in a jealous rage. It seems as if the two estranged lovers had been reunited at the awards ceremony." A clip was shown. "Mr. Duke has already been taken into custody and it is evident that there will be a harsh judging." Another clip, this one of Richard Duke in cuffs. "Miss Casablanca's Grammy award for Best New Artist will be given to her agent and trusted friend, Harold Ziedfield. Goodnight, everyone. We at MTV are overcome with sadness at this horrible loss."  
  
They were buried together in a small, secluded plot near Di's childhood home. And though it rained harder than Harold could cry, than the piteous wailings of Chris's mother could penetrate, there was an aura of happiness. If one listened very closely, one could hear Di's beautiful voice singing to Chris in their final ecstatic moment.  
  
THE END 


	13. Epilogue

Epilogue  
  
  
  
"Chris! Stop!" Di was laughing, running down the beach with Chris in hot pursuit. He finally caught the redheaded lightning beam, tackled her down onto the sand, and Harold watched as they kissed, the tide crashing over their bodies.  
  
The robust agent was in his Adirondack chair, sipping an iced tea, flipping through a Newsweek magazine, and watching his lovebirds play on the bright summer day. "I need to get these pasty legs some sun!" He'd said to Chris and Di, riding in the backseat of Chris's convertible. Di, swinging her legs out the side of the car and sipping a Slurpee, just laughed and threw her arms around Chris, so happy to be reunited.  
  
And there they were, playing like children on the beach. The radio was on, blasting No Doubt, and Harold was completely content just listening to Chris and Di's banter. She was tossing clumps of sand at him as he sloppily constructed a sand castle.  
  
"That's a pathetic sand castle."  
  
"Oh, is it?" He challenged. "Let's see you make a better one, Lady Di!"  
  
"I can!" Immediately she began to construct her own castle, adding seashells for embellishment. "There," Di proclaimed. "Isn't mine prettier? It's because I watch Martha Stewart."  
  
"I give up. Yours is prettier."  
  
"I know." She kissed him playfully and pushed him back on the sand. "Close your eyes, Harold!" Di yelled to her dozing agent, giggling madly.  
  
When Harold awoke from his nap, Di and Chris were still their energetic selves, now splashing in the water. The song on the radio changed, and instantly, Di's melodic voice floated down the beach. Both Chris and Di continued their playing while Harold listened, almost transfixed by the song.  
  
"Our romance won't end on a sorrowful note," Di was singing along with Chris's piano playing. "Though by tomorrow you're gone. The song is ended, but as the songwriter wrote, the melody lingers on."  
  
Each of their words lingered in the air, chilling Harold. A lot had transpired in those months, and a lot of it he wasn't proud of.  
  
His lovebirds were still frolicking, kissing and splashing and throwing sand, completely unaware that their song was playing. Harold's kind blue eyes softened at the sight of his chickpea reunited with her long-lost lover, and he let himself get lost in his reverie again.  
  
"Still, I'll always keep the memory of the way you hold your knife…"  
  
"The way we danced till three."  
  
"The way you've changed my life…"  
  
In unison, the lovers ended their song. "They can't take that away from me."  
  
The music faded.  
  
"In memoriam of the late Di Casablanca and Chris Foster," said the DJ. Both Di and Chris looked Harold's way before they too faded.  
  
~The End 


End file.
